A Wild Nobility
by thebarefootflapper
Summary: As Beyonce once said, "If you liked it then you should have put a ring on it"… well he has, and Mary Crawley is FINALLY getting married. Planning a wedding isn't easy at the best of times, especially not when your father is the Prime Minister! With secrets, scandals, and revelations aplenty, this is one trip down the aisle you're unlikely to forget.
1. 8th May 2015

_**I finally started a new Modern!MxM fic! I will come back to 'To the Abbey Born' at some point, but I'm just having trouble with a few of the finer details on that one but I'll figure it out eventually. I've been working on some pretty emotional and dramatic stories lately so I just wanted to write something a bit more light hearted. I recently finished the last Princess Diaries book and I've been wanting to try my hand at something similar (i.e. entirely from Mary's POV) for ages now and this seems as good a time as any. Those of you who have read my past stories will know that my interpretation of Modern!Mary is sassy, sarcastic, and perhaps even a little bit cynical... I hope that comes across okay here, and please, please let me know if you're on board with this idea. Enjoy :) x**_

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **7:30am. 8th May 2015**

 **Chelsea, London.**

My Dad's the Prime Minister.

No, really. He is.

It's all over the news - he's been elected for a second term and Britain once again has a majority Tory government. At the moment, nobody's quite sure how but they've got five years to figure it out.

God, that makes me sound so disinterested.

It's not that, but I supposed that you become almost desensitised to the constant media buzz around almost every aspect of your life after all this time. That being said, it's days like this when you have to set the alarm a whole hour earlier because you know there's going to be even more journalists than normal lurking outside of your flat…

And the office.

And that Tesco Metro by the Tube station.

No wonder I don't have any friends (actually, that's a lie, I do. Only the ones crazy enough to put up with all this crap though).

I've just read all of this back and I sound so bloody morbid. I don't even know why I thought this would be a good idea…

'Mindfulness'. That's what Dr Clarkson called it.

I think he's been reading The Daily Mail again.

It's the latest health fad, apparently, and it's literally **everywhere**. Have you seen those colouring books for grown ups? I have to admit, I did have a look at them in W H Smiths the other day but I don't think I have the patience for them. Mindfulness, apparently, is " _the intentional focus of one's attention on the emotions, thoughts and sensations occurring in the present moment_ " (thanks, Wikipedia)…

Hence the reason for starting this diary.

I don't even know what to write. I'm not good with making my feelings known but then that's probably the reason why I've ended up in this state in the first place. My problem is that I have a tendency to bottle things up which is silly I know, but it stems from an irrational fear of letting people down developed in my teenage years…

Hmmm. That was a bit deep. Perhaps this thing is starting to work already.

Apparently, I need some sort of 'creative outlet', which is ridiculous considering I'm probably the least creative person in the family.

Logical, yes. Creative? Absolutely not.

I'm not even sure what to write. I've flicked through Sybil's blog for inspiration but it's mostly just 'aesthetic' posts (what even is 'aesthetic'?) and pictures of that perpetually miserable looking one with the beard from Game of Thrones. There's something ion there though called 'Meet the Blogger"…

Maybe that would be a good place to start.

 **Name:** Lady Mary Josephine Crawley - though I choose not to use the title. Save when it suits me (one does not queue at Wimbledon in Christian Loboutins)

 **Age:** 29\. Almost 30 *Whelp*

 **Where do you live?:** London, though I grew up in rural Yorkshire

 **Favourite colour:** Black, like my soul. Ha.

 **Hair length:** Short-ish. I don't even know anymore - I cut it last year. Now it's a sort of grown out bob. I think Cosmo calls it the 'lob'.

 **Siblings:** Two younger siblings, both girls. Edith is… well, Edith. She lives in Paris and writes novels. Allegedly. Don't ask me what she's written though because I haven't a clue. Sybil, on the other hand, is an absolute darling and I've made no secret about her being my favourite. She's a second year medical student at Cardiff (Papa's just about over the fact that she turned down Oxford, but we don't really talk about that)

 **Occupation:** Barrister, and a bloody good one at that. I've worked hard for this, no matter what people might say behind my back, and I'll keep going until I get what I want. I'm determined to be a QC by the time I'm 35 and, after that, the judiciary. Maybe. Either way, my profession needs more women at the top.

 **Relationship Status:** Taken. Very, very taken. Matthew and I have been together for nearly ten years, though we've known each other an awful lot longer than that. He's my cousin, which is a lot less weird than it sounds when you know that it's distant enough to not really make any difference (yet he's still my father's heir… complicated, I know but it doesn't matter). We're not married. Or engaged. Shock horror, we don't even live together…

I know.

It's not that we're old fashioned, traditional, or that we're 'saving ourselves' for marriage (believe me, that is **far** from true… the word abstinence is not in my vocabulary), but probably more to do with the fact that we're both incredibly busy and so moving in together isn't really a top priority for either of us.

But I love him, and he loves me…

And that's more than enough.

Oh God, is that the time? I didn't even realise… I hate it when the news is all over the place, I schedule my morning routine around the Sky News paper review.

But can someone please let Adam Bolton go to bed?

 _ **-xxx-**_

 **2:00pm. 8th May 2015**

 **Robing Room, The Old Bailey.**

Mama and Papa are having lunch with the Queen.

Me? I've got a ridiculously overpriced pasta salad from Pret and the worst cup of coffee I've tasted in a long time. It's a shame, really… they do nice sandwiches at the palace.

 **Note to Self:** Teach the new boy where to get decent coffee.

The new boy. Christ almighty, where do I even begin?

Firstly, he isn't a boy. Not in the slightest. Secondly, I'd completely forgotten that he was coming.

It was ten-past-nine when I finally arrived at court (I swear the paparazzi breed like rabbits), cutting it fine for my first hearing but that's nothing new. The security guards know me by name now and not just because of my 'famous' parentage - they've teased me about my timekeeping from the very beginning, even though I've never, ever been late ( _as Gandalf once said "a wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to_ "). You always see the same faces passing through here and it's easy enough to spot the seasoned criminals, but the man standing behind me didn't seem to be one of them.

"Excuse me," he said with a lilting Irish accent. "Are you a barrister?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"How will I find out where **my** barrister is?"

"Check the court listings. That should tell you everything you need. Do you know their name?" I asked (I know almost **everyone**. Knowing your enemy is in the job description).

The man, about a year or two younger than me, nodded and pulled a slightly crumpled business card out of his pocket. "Err… a Mary Crawley."

I looked back at him quizzically, not quite understanding what was going on. "I'm Mary Crawley, but I think there's been some sort of mistake. I'm not representing you." I picked up my things and turned to leave, but the man was hot on my heels like some sort of lost puppy.

"Oh no, sorry, I should have said. I'm Tom Branson… Your pupil."

Imagine how much of an idiot I felt - I'd been told about it about twenty times by my senior clerk but I still managed to forget. "Of course you are, sorry, it's been a bit of a hectic week." I looked at the man… this 'Tom' - first impressions count a lot in this game and he seemed wide eyed and eager, perhaps even a tad naïve.

"Bit old to be a pupil, aren't you?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow at him – most are in their early twenties, fresh out of law school and without a clue as to how the real world actually works...

…I'd been like that once upon a time.

"It's a long story," Tom replied with a smirk.

"Well, we haven't got time for it now. We'll start of easy. Section twenty GBH, straight forward enough - not particularly interesting, but it'll give us time to go back to chambers and get you settled in there. Have you been yet?"

"Only for my interview. Everything else was done by phone."

"Fair enough. So, it was… Liverpool, where you studied?"

"Yes, Miss," replies Tom. "Took the BPTC at Cardiff."

"My sister's at university in Cardiff," I told him - I'm not very good at small talk, but it seemed like a good way to break the ice. "You've travelled around a bit," she says. And don't call me miss, it's Mary... Have you got a wig and gown yet?"

Tom shook his head as we stepped into the lift, and took a couple of heavy folders from me in a very gentlemanly gesture. "Do I need to get one?"

"Probably should… It's amazing just how much looking like you know what you're doing helps."

 **Note to Self:** Take Tom to Ede and Ravenscroft ASAP (Being called to the Bar is like getting your letter from Hogwarts… though pupils are not allowed their own broomsticks).

 _ **-xxx-**_

 **8:15pm. 8th May 2015**

 **My office, Branksome Chambers**

It's after eight on a Friday and I'm still at work.

Why?

Why do I do this to myself?

Well, there are a couple of reasons I suppose:

I still have an absolute mountain of paperwork to do and it absolutely cannot wait until Monday;

I'm hoping that, the longer I leave it, the more bored the journalists will get waiting outside my flat and leave; and

I may or may not have just had sex on my desk. Again.

Alright, it's **absolutely** the last one. Mostly. But it's all Matthew's fault… it's **always** Matthew's fault whenever this happens which is strange because he looks so proper and like butter wouldn't melt…

But he is utter **filth** when he wants to be.

I know that sounds sordid, but it was meant to be.

I love this side of him, the one that's reserved for me and me alone - it's wild and dangerous, he knows how to keep me on my toes and, with him, I've learnt not to take myself so seriously all the time. That being said, he's safe and humble, completely grounded and without a doubt the sort of man I could raise a family with.

That's such a strange thing to see written on paper, but it's true.

I think I've reached a point in my life where I'm ready to at least start thinking about settling down. I've never been the maternal type but, with Matthew, it's so easy to see it becoming a reality. That being said, I'm **determined** to be married before we have children which I know sound's old fashioned but I'm a little traditional in that sense.

But, where my randy bugger of a boyfriend is concerned, I could be pregnant right now and it wouldn't surprise either of us.

Honestly, the man is insatiable.

But I'm not much better.

He showed up about an hour ago - everyone else had gone home ages ago. Our ageing security guard, Stan (whom I'm so glad is a little hard of hearing these days, for obvious reasons), just lets him in with a simple " _Good evening, Mr Crawley_ ," and no further questions asked. As it so happened, Matthew's visit wasn't purely for pleasure, and he arrived with a bundle of papers ready for one of my hearings next week.

"Personal service?" I smiled. "Either you're in trouble and this is your punishment or I'm suddenly incredibly important."

"I suspect it's somewhere in the middle," he replied sheepishly. "I failed to get bail for one of my clients and he's been remanded in custody... he's not very happy with me."

"You win some, you lose some," I told him.

"Only a barrister could be so blasé about these things."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"I brought you coffee," he said, placing a Starbucks cup down on the desk next to the file. "Proper coffee. Skinny white chocolate mocha… and cream."

"Matthew!" Cream. Why does he always get cream? I'm trying to be good.

"What? It's 'Fat Friday'… well, according to our paralegals. Whatever that means."

I scowled at him, though he knows I don't mean it. "I saw you in court today," I told him. "Though I suspect it was before you lost that bail application because you seemed rather confident to me." Matthew is a solicitor - the defender of the downtrodden, I suppose you could call him. Everyone knows that there's no money in criminal law these days, but Matthew and another mutual friend of ours from our Oxford days have gone into practice together. As such, he's a senior partner at the age of twenty-nine, which is incredibly impressive indeed.

"What were you doing in the Magistrates court?"

"You speak as if it's beneath me," I retorted. "Am I not allowed to come down and inspect the competition once in a while? Your lot will be putting us out of a job soon what with all these higher rights. No, if you must know, I was checking up on one of the pubils. One of my former clients was up for a section forty-seven and I wanted to see how she was getting on. I only got him acquitted of burglary last week the ungrateful little shit."

Matthew chuckled at my use of such language. "As most of them in our line of work so often are," he replies.

I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to play with him a bit. It's been a long day and I just wanted to… **unwind**. "You know, you really are quite a good advocate. I like a man who knows what he's doing with his tongue."

"Well, I've never had any complaints," he replied with a rather devilish smirk. Our conversations often take a flirtatious turn we like to push each other to see who cracks first. "Though I suspect that, when it comes to oral skills," he added. "Yours are rather... impressive."

I shrugged dramatically, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself giggling like a schoolgirl. "Some of those submissions can be a bit of a mouthful but, what can I say, I've had an awful lot of practise."

I could feel his eyes on my as I got up and moved towards the bookshelves on the other side of the room, returning the copy of Halsbury's Laws to its rightful place. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a complete tease when I want to be, that I know just how to swing my hips ever so subtly but still it makes him lose all rationale.

"You must really hate these long hours... How on earth do you cope not knowing exactly where you're going to be and when all the time?"

"Believe me, I'm incredibly flexible."

The next thing I knew, he was stood behind me, hands on my hips and trying to pull me close in that way he does when I know he's desperate for a hug. "Mary, I've barely seen you lately... when was the last time you took some time for yourself?"

What is it with people and asking me that question lately?

"I'm fine, really," I told him, turning to face him and wrapping my arms around his neck - he's growing stubble again, something I hated at first but now I think he looks so boyish without it (which isn't a bad thing, but still). "Just busy."

"Let's go out to dinner... drinks even. Just... something." His voice was low and seductive as he pleaded with me.

"I shouldn't mix business with pleasure, especially not with solicitors," I teased."You play your game and we play ours... I don't know about you, but I have rules about this sort of thing."

Matthew laughed agin. "Well isn't that what law is about? Breaking rules to make new ones? You and I would both be out of a job if that weren't the case."

In the end, I cracked first, pulling him forcefully towards me by the lapels of his jacket, and kissed him hard…

Damn the man.

I hate him.

I really, really hate him*

*Not really.


	2. 9th and 10th May 2015

_**Thank you all so much for your responses to the first chapter! I'm excited to keep writing more - this won't be a particularly long fic and the entries may skip around a bit (I don't have the time to cover every day, so I'll probably skip to all the important bits). Here, we learn a bit more about the family and some of Mary's insecurities start to creep in - sorry about the formatting when it comes to text messages (Mary's will always be in italics, and those she receives will be in bold) and Mary's notes, it's so much harder to get right when publishing it on here. As always, enjoy and let me know what you think :D x**_

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **10:30am. 9th May 2015  
** **Chelsea, London**

Having practically been ordered by Stan, we left my office just after nine. London on a Friday night is nothing short of chaotic, and so neither of us were really in the mood for dinner and drinks in town. And so it was that we ended up back at mine where we ordered a takeaway and fell asleep in front of the telly.

I much prefer my flat to Matthew's. Don't get me wrong, his house is nice, but some of his housemates are a little… odd.

True, they're never really around on the weekends, but I don't feel as though I can really relax for fear of intrusion (believe me, we've been there and it's awkward as hell). He's looking to move out soon though and I've been helping him to look at some flats - I must admit, I do love a good snoop around other people's houses.

Will I move with him though? Who knows.

Actually, no I won't. I love my own flat too much.

Though Matthew **hates** Chelsea, so there isn't much chance of him moving in here. That being said, I am incredibly persuasive when I want to be and I'm not giving this place up without a fight.

I love Saturday mornings. It's the one day of the week where I don't make any plans, I wake up whenever I want and just see where the mood takes me. Of the two of us, Matthew is the much better cook, and so I've just let him loose in the kitchen to see what he can come up with for breakfast.

 **Note to Self:** Do an online shop at some point this week. I'm running out of things to do with pasta.

Sybil's texting, which is odd seeing as how Sybil is **never** up before at least noon on a Saturday.

 ** _I'm not coming to family dinner tonight._**

 _I'm sorry, what now?_

 ** _I'm not coming up to London. I have exams._**

 _Not for another month._

 ** _I know, but I need to start revising sooner_** ** _rather than later._**

 _Sybil, there's a photograph of you on the Daily Mail website giving the paparazzi the middle finger at 3am this morning._

 ** _Call it one last blow-out._**

 _Is this because of the Larry thing?_

I don't get a response for at least a couple of minutes - Sybil and her boyfriend have just split up. As horrible as it is to see my little sister so heartbroken, I have to admit that I'm glad she's out of that relationship. Her ex is the eldest son of my godfather and a bit of a prick, if I'm being honest. It's a shame, because he used to be such a nice boy, but now I think she's better off without him.

 ** _Yes. A bit._**

 ** _I just can't deal with the inevitable ten_** ** _thousand questions._**

 _I understand. So I'm going it alone then?_

 ** _I really am sorry_**

 _Don't be. But just remember that you owe me one_

I sent her a winking emoji - I don't normally do emojis, but this is Sybil and I can afford to be a bit of a child around Sybil.

 ** _Tell Granny I said hi_**

Oh God. Granny. I'd completely forgotten about Granny.

How much can I pay Matthew to cancel his plans with the boys tonight and come to dinner with my family instead?

I don't think money will be enough…

I might have to start offering sexual favours.

Nigella Lawson's on the telly and, as with most men I know, she gets my boyfriend quite excited. This might not be all that difficult.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **6:00pm. 9th May 2015**

 **Downing Street, London**

Number 10 is absolutely one of the best perks about Papa's job.

I do love this house, some of his predecessors have preferred Number 11, but I like this one best. There's always **something** going on. The trouble with old houses such as these is that they can often be so eerie - before Papa got the top job, we lived in a Georgian townhouse in Belgravia, one that's been in the family for generations. Granny still lives there and refuses to downsize (though what one old lady could possibly want with a house that huge is anybody's guess). Don't get me wrong, Grantham house is beautiful, but it just feels so… empty.

At least the Abbey is open to the public much of the year and so there's always somebody around to appreciate it.

I should probably mention that my father is not only the Prime Minister, but an Earl as well.

It's all awfully complicated but, years and years ago, he gave up his hereditary seat in the House of Lords to stand for parliament as a Commoner. He quickly rose through the ranks of local, grass roots politics and became leader of the Conservatives when I was about twenty. That, I think, was around the time my life changed forever - not only was I in the early stages of my relationship with Matthew, half way through a law degree at one of the most prestigious universities in the world, but I was now the subject of almost constant media attention. Edith and Sybil were still relatively young in comparison, and so the focus was seemingly entirely on me.

It was hard, but one learns to deal with these sorts of things.

All that aside, we're just like any other perfectly normal family (if ever so slightly dysfunctional), and part of that includes the dreaded family dinner…

Except half of the family is missing, and my father recently won the general election, but we still carry on.

My mother was there to greet her at the door, as per usual. "Oh my darling," she smiled. "How are you?"

"Good, I suppose," I replied. "Tired, stressed, incredibly busy... the usual."

Mama sighed. "You work far too hard sometimes. Oh and, by the way, your grandmother's already here."

"Wonderful..."

"Be nice!"

I put on my warmest smile as I entered what I suppose must be the living room and was immediately greeted by Granny. She's recently discovered vaping and, sure enough, that ugly electronic cigarette was poised between her lips. My Grandmother is the Dowager Countess of Grantham and still very much upholds all the values and traditions of the past. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, though she still employs a full staff of servants to prepare her food and drink and drive her around (thank God they took her driving license away from her years ago… certain people shouldn't be allowed behind the wheel of a car and she is one of them).

"Mary, dear," she said. "You're getting far too skinny. Have you found yourself a nice young man yet? There can't be a shortage of them in your line of work."

I looked at her in confusion. "Hello, Granny... What are you talking about? I have Matthew."

"Well that's not what the Daily Mail said"

In addition to vaping, Granny has also discovered the internet. She rarely strays beyond the realms of the Daily Mail (I'm honestly convinced that she's one of those trolls who leaves comments at the bottom of even the most obscure stories, like the ones about Kylie Jenner's lips and such), though she does like the odd flutter on Paddy Power every now and then.

 **Note to Self:** Ask Granny's butler for copies of her credit card statement. I suspect she may have had more than just a 'flutter' on the Grand National.

I forced another smile and resisted the urge to groan. "I'm fine, really... as I said to Mama, I'm just incredibly busy."

Granny gives me a pointed look and sighs. "Well just make sure you take some time for yourself. You're almost thirty years old... the clock's ticking."

I can't help but smirk. "If this is about babies then women are having them when they're much older and even without the need for men these days."

"I don't think I want to know."

I honestly don't know what this family's obsession with me and having babies is.

Hang on, why would the Daily Mail think that I'm single?

Well, of course the answer to that is because it's the Daily Mail…

You'd think that, the day after the General Election, they would be largely dedicated to an in-depth analysis of the results but, no, it isn't. Instead of asking why it all went wrong for the leaders of the opposition, they're asking (once again) why Matthew won't propose.

Given I have skipped straight to the TV and Showbiz section, in which my name appears more frequently than it does the legal news nowadays…

Amal and I have that in common.

(Not to brag or anything, but I knew her long before she became Mrs Clooney.)

So according to the Daily Mail, here are the top reasons why Matthew and I aren't yet getting married:

 **1\. He can't hack the celebrity lifestyle:** This, sadly, I think may be true (even though I wouldn't exactly call myself a celebrity). I've said it before, but Matthew is so humble and so… **ordinary**. Compared to mine, his upbringing was so normal. Both his parents were medics - his father was an army doctor and his mother a nurse. Growing up, he spent time in Cyprus, Germany, Canada, and I think even Ireland for a time. Manchester will always be home to him though and where he spent much of his time after his father left the army. I never met Reggie - he died when Matthew was sixteen, but I'm sure I would have liked him an awful lot.

 **2\. No privacy:** Again, true. There will always be someone following us around with a camera, whether it be the paparazzi or someone with an iPhone. I mean, look what happened to Kate Middleton that time she went to France with Prince William (not that I'd ever sunbathe topless, but you get the idea).

 **3\. My family:** Actually, I'm not so sure about this one. Because he technically is family. It's all so terribly archaic but, since there is no male heir directly in Papa's bloodline, the Earldom will someday fall to Matthew. I vaguely remember him from when we were children - he'd spend his summers at our estate in Yorkshire though I don't think either of us really understood why. Then his father's job took him all over the world and we sort of lost touch - we were reunited years later at Reggie's funeral (romantic, I know *sarcastic face emoji*). We ended up going on to study the same degree at the same university and the rest, as they say, is history.

 **4\. He's going to break up with me:** This, I hope, is definitely not true. There's speculation that we've 'drifted apart' lately, but I suspect this is largely due to the fact that they haven't managed to get a picture of him sneaking out of my flat lately (or vice-versa), so they can't spin some "scandalous" story about our late-night trysts (oh if only they knew what was going on in my office). I don't even understand what the obsession is - this is the twenty-first century, and I'm a successful career woman who just happens to have a very healthy sex-life…

But, God forbid, I should be almost thirty and still be unmarried without a baby.

But, do you know something? Matthew **has** been rather distant lately. He's not himself at the moment, and I can't help but think that last night was something of a distraction. I know that he's probably got an awful lot going on at work at the moment, and solicitors in criminal practice work **so** hard (it's a shame they're so unappreciated), but he doesn't talk to me. Neither of us are particular fond of bringing our work home with us, but it's not unusual for him to ask for my advice on a difficult case…

Which is making me think that there's something more to this.

Why am I even doing this to myself? I need to delete the Daily Mail app from my phone right now…

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **1:30am. 10th May 2015**

 **Chelsea, London**

I really need to learn not to sleep with my phone under my pillow, especially not when Matthew (who is the lightest of lightweights) goes out drinking with his rugby team and decides to pocket dial and leave a three minute voicemail.

Followed around ten minutes later with a text message:

 ** _Nathan* it;s me.I loveyou_**

*Drunk texts are always interesting when sent from an iPhone, solely because of the autocorrect function - one time, I was in a hurry and misspelt 'national', which was automatically corrected to 'Nefertiti' which is, of course, a common word in everybody's vocabulary.

 _Well that's nice to know. Where are you?_

 ** _Whooosh. Whip cracked._**

I'm suddenly reminded of that episode of 'Friends' where Chandler tries to make the whip noise.

 _Very funny. I ask because you've left me a three minute voicemail of just noise._

 ** _Sorry. I was in a bat. Going hone now._** ** _Last tub._**

He's getting the last tube back to his - it's a short enough journey and the station is round the corner from his house. I don't worry about him at all, he's like a puppy when he's drunk and all he normally wants is a bit of affection…

And sometimes a kebab.

 ** _Have I said that I love you? Cause I do…_**

 ** _Lots. I'm going to marry you youtomorrow,_** ** _Nathan Crawley. Yes?_**

 _Not tomorrow. It's a Sunday, darling. Everywhere is closed._

He response with an emoji of a Christmas tree. I don't even know what that means…

But that was absolutely not a real marriage proposal.

Was it?


	3. 13th-15th May 2015

_**Second chapter today! I know, right? I haven't been this productive on a fic in so long! So, if you haven't already, I'd recommend going back and reading my earlier update before this one. I decided to post today because I have a few very important things that I need to focus on this week and I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write more. Things are starting to get a little bit exciting now so enjoy and please let me know what you think - your response has been incredible so far! :) x**_

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **10:00am. 13th May 2015**

 **My Office, Branksome Chambers**

My meteoric rise in the legal profession has been through mixture of hard work and incredibly good luck. It's very true that, half the time, it's not what you know, but who you know. It's so hard to get a pupilage nowadays and I commend any young barristers who make it this far. When I first started, it was much easier and I wasn't short of offers from various sets of chambers across the city. In my heart though, there was only one place I would ever practice.

The Napiers have been friends of ours for years and clerking has been in their blood for generations. It's a tough job they work around the clock arranging their barrister's diaries, cases, negotiating fees, and generally just ensuring everything runs smoothly. Heading up the team is Evelyn, another childhood friend of mine who's followed in his father's footsteps and recently taken over as the senior clerk. He came to see me having just returned from a breakfast meeting with a solicitor and presented me with one of the biggest and most exciting briefs that he'd seen in a long time.

"Miss Crawley, good result in court on Friday I take it?" he asked with a smile on his face. He always calls me 'Miss Crawley' in professional situations, it's another strange tradition of the Bar.

I looked up from my laptop and nodded. "Yes, it was rather. He got two and a half years. It was a long shot that he was ever going to get off with it, but it's a better outcome than I expected."

"Well done. I have another brief for you."

I sighed wearily - I still haven't even touched the papers Matthew brought round on Friday. "Evelyn, I'm already in court for the rest of the week. Can you not give it to somebody else?"

Evelyn shook his head. "No. It has to be you. Solicitor's request," he said.

I have to admit, I'm a little bit stunned by this. "Somebody's asked for me?"

"Don't look so shocked, Mary," he laughed. "You're making quite a name for yourself. It's a big case, huge in fact. You have a couple of weeks to prepare for it though and, win or lose, it will look excellent on your silk application in a few years time."

I know that I'm already pushing myself to my limits, but this really is too good an opportunity to pass up. "What do I need to know?"

"Murder, but it stinks of corruption… the facts don't all add up."

"Go on."

"The accused and his wife split up years ago. It looks to have been a violent relationship and he's got previous for robbery and desertion."

"He's an army man?"

"Former. Dishonourable discharge. The wife denied him a divorce, though it doesn't make sense as to why. Anyway, after months of heated discussion, he goes to see her and, the next thing you know, her body's found in the kitchen."

"Cause of death?"

Evelyn looked at me with a glimmer of excitement in his eyes - at times like this, he looks a little like one of those old fashioned detectives from a period drama (I could easily see him skulking around Victorian London in a deerstalker). "Poison."

"I haven't done that one before."

"I know. But God is in the detail, Miss Crawley, and there's nobody better for the job… and, if it helps to sweeten the deal, I've made sure you're out of court until Wednesday next week."

There are days when I don't know whether or not to kiss him or kill him. This is one of them.

 _ **-xxx-**_

 **5:30pm. 13th May 2015**

 **The Seven Stars pub, London**

The Seven Stars is a popular pub for lawyers, many of whom are either winding down for the evening or celebrating victories in court (or drowning sorrows, depending on which side you're on). Tom has impressed me today, and I've figured that I should probably make an attempt to get to know him better if we're going to be working together for the next year.

He waltzed into my office and dumped a folder onto my desk with with a rather smug smile plastered across his face.

"What do you want Tom?" I asked. "I'm rather busy."

"I know," he replied. "Which is why I started going through the files on that big murder case."

I'd forgotten how exciting the early days of a pupilage could be - this case is a big deal for me but, for Tom, it's going to look amazing on his application to join chambers (if that's what he decides to do).

"The Bates one?"

Tom nodded. "There are huge gaps in his CV and a visa application for Canada that ran out at least a year before he came back over here. I've tried cross-referencing it with credit card statements and stuff, but there's absolutely nothing to connect him with his wife for the last ten years… it's almost like he disappeared of the face of the earth."

"Then we need to see him. We need to get..."

"A VO? Done," he cut in. "Tomorrow at one. Don't worry, I've checked your diary, you're out of court and I managed to get Evelyn to move your con on the burglary forward a few hours. You said that it was pretty straightforward so I didn't think you'd mind."

I couldn't help but smile at him. "I am impressed," I told him. "Have you ever considered clerking?"

Tom chuckled. "No," he replied. "I prefer getting my hands dirty."

"Then you and I will do very well together." I shut down my computer and slipped my jacket on with a weary sigh. "Look, Tom... I'm sorry that I've not exactly been the easiest person to be around and I probably should have been a better mentor. Things are just... hectic, right now and for that I apologise."

He seemed rather stunned by what I'd just said. "Wow... do you think you could write that down?"

"Why?"

"Because apparently you never apologise to anyone."

"I only apologise when I know I'm in the wrong... which is hardly ever but, this time, I'm certain that I am. I know what it's like to be in your shoes and you're in for the hardest year of your life. I know how important it is to have a decent pupil-master seeing you through it."

"Was yours?" he asksed. "Decent, I mean."

"He was at first... then he turned out to be an absolute bastard and, believe me, that's being polite."

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Why? What happened?"

I didn't want to go into that right now. "Another story for another time... now, come on, I'll buy you a drink."

I never used to drink during the week but, the busier things get, the nicer it becomes just to sit back and relax with a glass of wine at the end of a hard day. I'd never, ever go out on a midweek bender (I haven't done that since university), because I'm an absolute nightmare when I'm hungover and trying to make a cup of tea seems like too much of an effort, let alone prepare a submission.

We found a small table by the bar and the conversation flowed easier than I thought.

"So, why Middle Temple?" I asked. "Is it a family thing or did you do what most seem to do and just pick an Inn of Court at random."

"Random," replied Tom as he wiped some of the froth from his Guinness off his lip. "If I was doing the family thing, I should have gone for Lincolns. It's where my uncle was a member of."

"Is that how you got into law?"

"Sort of," he said. "I studied history and politics at Liverpool and tried my hand at journalism for a while after graduating. It didn't really work out and so I did the conversion course part-time whilst working for a paper down in Cardiff before staying on there to study the BPTC."

"My sister was a journalist," Mary tells him. "She wrote for the Guardian and a few more obscure publications… she lives in Paris now, I think she writes novels of some sort."

Tom pondered this for a moment. "Not Edith Crawley who wrote for the arts and culture segment?"

"One and the same."

"Ahh... no, she's good, I like her style. You're from quite the famous family it seems."

"What about your family?"

"My father was a journalist," Tom told me "I suppose that's why I thought I should give it a go, especially after he died."

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Shot during the troubles in Northern Ireland. We lived in Dublin where he worked at one of the national papers where he was a political writer. They sent him up there to cover a story... wrong place at the wrong time sort of thing."

"Oh... I'm sorry."

"No, don't be... shit happens," he half laughed. "My uncle, the barrister, worked on a lot of cases involving the IRA up in Belfast after he moved to the north after getting married. I went to court a few times and watched him... he was pretty good. So, enough about me and my woes... what about you?"

"I did the family tradition thing," she says. "My great-grandfather was a solicitor and grandfather a judge over in the states. Law's in my blood I suppose."

"Can I ask a question?"

"If you must."

"I saw some papers this this morning sent over by a solicitor by the name of Matthew Crawley... are you two related?"

I nodded. "He's my cousin. And also my boyfriend."

Tom choked on his pint. I forget how incestuous that sounds to people who don't really understand all that much about how my family tree works.

"It's not illegal, don't worry," I reassured him. "There was an awful lot of inbreeding that went on among the aristocracy."

"I'll be honest with you, I wasn't very nice about the English aristocracy in my dissertation."

"What was it about?"

"The war of independence."

"Sounds... interesting."

"You couldn't care less, could you?"

"No," I replied bluntly. "But what I do care about is that my glass is empty and I do believe it's your round."

I like Tom. I like him very much - he's incredibly charming and very intelligent. I think he'll go a very long way in this game.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **3:00pm. 14th May 2015**

 **Back of a Cab, Stuck in Traffic**

After our visit to the prison, I took a long lunch. Simply because:

a) I can; and

b) My best friend and I are **finally** free at the same time. Which never happens.

Anna is part of my father's staff - she works in PR and knows absolutely everything about everyone. Over the years, she's also become my sort of unofficial PA and personal stylist (I seriously think her talents are wasted - what this girl can do with hair is nothing short of magical).

We chose one of our old favourite places for lunch - it wasn't as busy as I anticipated and easy enough to get a table without a reservation.

Orders placed, Anna leaned across the table and began asking me some really rather strange questions.

"So what are you doing for your birthday on Saturday?

I shrugged as I took a sip of my water. "I don't know, really," I said. "I'm having dinner with the family tomorrow night and then I think Matthew and I are just going to do something simple at the weekend. I don't like a fuss."

"But you're going to be **thirty**."

"Don't remind me."

"It's not that old, but it's still something to be celebrated… you've made it through your twenties. You're a proper grown up now… well, you've **always** been a proper grownup."

I have to laugh at this. Anna's right, I always have been mature for my age.

"My best friend from school got engaged last week," she told me. "I had to find out through Facebook."

It can't be easy for Anna, she sacrificed a lot when she moved to London from Leeds when she was eighteen - we're both Yorkshire girls, but our upbringings couldn't have been more different. She's the sort of person who deserves so much happiness and the true fairytale ending that I know she craves.

"Is this the one who documents absolutely every second of her day on social media"

Anna nodded.

"What have I told you about Facebook? You shouldn't believe everything that you read."

I have a Facebook profile, but I don't really use it save to keep in touch with old uni friends. Instagram, however, I am absolutely all over… and I love Pinterest.

"There was a video. He did the whole very public, very flashy proposal," she said. "Complete with a flashmob."

I cringed. "The worst kind of proposal. How awkward would it be if she'd said no?"

Anna laughs. "I know! It's like when you see those men who hire out an entire capsule on the London Eye and pop the question when they get to the top… everyone's looking at them like goldfish. I don't think I'd like that," she poured herself another glass of water from the jug on our table and gave me a hard, rather intense stare. "What about you? What would you like?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"How would you like to be proposed to?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I can't say I've really given it much thought."

Now that did surprise her. "What? Even though you've been with Matthew for ten years?"

I nodded. "I think it's one of those things that will just… happen," I told her. "We'll be watching telly one night and just agree to get married. Like Carrie and Big the first time around."

I didn't tell her about Matthew's drunk text on Sunday morning (I haven't even discussed that with him, come to think of it), or the fact that the Daily Mail is getting to me a bit and I think that he might be about to break up with me.

"But it would be intimate? Just the two of you?"

"I suppose. I don't like the idea of anything too public… but you know it would be all over the internet within minutes anyway."

I'm almost certain that Anna muttered something like "good to know" under her breath, but I can't be sure…

Honestly, it was like an interrogation.

Is that what I'm like in court?

No wonder they all crack.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **10:00pm. 15th May 2015**

 **North Terminal Departure Lounge, London Gatwick**

Well this has escalated quickly.

I never thought in a million years that this is where I'd end up the night before my birthday but Matthew really is the master of surprises.

Verona. We're going to Verona.

I've gone from almost dumping him myself (bet the Daily Mail wouldn't have seen that coming!), to being absolutely over the moon and loving him more than I ever thought possible.

It all started a few hours ago, as I stood staring at my reflection in the mirror - Anna is a blessing, truly. She'd pinned my hair into a simple yet sophisticated knot at the nape of my neck, adorned with a jewelled headband Sybil had made for me to wear for a ball at university. My dress was such an incredible find - a black 1920s flapper inspired garment with intricate beaded detailing - it was a splurge purchased from a vintage boutique on Portobello Road and I'd fallen in love with it the second I'd seen it. It looks stunning with my black and gold Jimmy Choo's, if I do say so myself.

My phone buzzed violently on my dressing table as I poured myself a glass of wine whilst waiting for Matthew to text to say he was on his way.

Sure enough, it was him. It wasn't the message I expected though.

 ** _Running late. I'll meet you there xx_**

I have to admit, I wasn't best pleased. Tonight had been the source of a fair few arguments between us this week and Matthew's behaviour had really started to irritate me a bit - he's been so short tempered and snappy, and I was so close just to losing my patience with him and telling him not to bother coming to dinner with us tonight.

That being said, I wasn't particularly in the mood for drama on my birthday weekend. I might not be a fan of extravagant celebration, but that doesn't mean that I don't want to enjoy myself.

So I called a cab and headed (alone) to the Criterion in Piccadilly. I love this place, the ambiance and romanticism of it, and I come here every year the night before my birthday. I was shown to a table where my family were already waiting for me, greeted first by Papa with a kiss and secondly an enthusiastic hug from Sybil. Even Edith seemed to be in a civilised mood, which is rare seeing as how she and I can barely spend more than an hour or so in the same room without having an argument.

I knew that it was rude, but I kept checking my phone every five minutes for any sign of Matthew's arrival. I was beginning to get worried - he said he wouldn't be long but that had been over an hour ago. Thankfully, we always start with pre-dinner drinks and so he still had time to make it for the meal.

I was more convinced than ever that he was going to break up with me, though I still hoped that he had the decency not to do it by standing me up.

No, of course not... he isn't like that.

"Mary, your grandmother has asked you a question twice now," said Mama.

"Hmm? Oh, sorry Granny, I was miles away."

Granny shook her head. "Goodness, child," she said. "Where is that head of yours?"

I didn't have a chance to answer before Papa suggested we ask for the menu, though I quickly excused myself to try to track down Matthew.

I stepped outside, shivering in the cool evening breeze as I called him.

"Mary?"

"Where the hell are you?" I snapped a little more aggressively than intended. "You said you'd be here?"

"I am here."

"Where? I'm outside and I can't see you."

"Turn around."

I didn't notice him at first, not until the small crowd passed by and I caught sight of him getting out of the back of a sleek black Mercedes. He's dressed in Jeans and a plain white shirt, not exactly appropriate attire for the Criterion. I hung up on him without another word and gave him my haughtiest stare as I practically marched towards him.

"You look beautiful," he said, leaning in to kiss me. I was so annoyed that I moved at the last second and he caught my cheek instead.

"Where have you been?"

"I told you I was running late."

"Why?"

"Darling, does it matter?" he replied. "Come on, let's eat… I'm starving."

I hated him so much*

*Not really. But I was coming close.

He sauntered right into the restaurant, practically dragging me behind him by the hand towards my family.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologised. "Traffic was a nightmare."

My mother smiled at him. "That's quite alright Matthew," she said. "You still have plenty of time."

Plenty of time? Plenty of time for what?

Papa, of course, greets him like the prodigal son as he always does. "My dear boy, you made it," he said, shaking his hand.

I couldn't believe that this was happening. Was nobody else annoyed with him?

I was about to ask, but Matthew spoke before me. "Right, well, it was lovely to see you all," he said. "But we really must be going." He picked up my bag and my coat before turning to me with a cocksure smile that drove me mad. "Come on, Mary."

"Have a wonderful time," Mama added.

This was odd. Very odd indeed.

I followed him outside and towards the waiting Mercedes, though I ignored the offer of his hand and climbed in myself. The chauffeur greeted us both by name as Matthew closed the door and checked something on his phone.

"Good evening, sir, Lady Mary," he said. "We're a little behind schedule, but I'll have you at Gatwick in no time at all."

"Gatwick?" I asked. "As in the airport? Why are we going to Gatwick?"

Matthew smirked and took my hand in his which, this time, I didn't resist. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you," he said. "I wanted it to be a surprise… I'm taking you away for the weekend."

I felt like such an idiot.

Apologies could wait, I was dying to know where he was taking me.

"Yes, but where are we going?"

He leant in and pressed a kiss to my neck, right behind the hollow of my ear and whispered slow and seductively: "Vedrai, il mio amore."

Italian. **Of course** he speaks Italian

I really, really, **really** hate him.


	4. 16th and 17th May 2015

_**Surprise! I'm back sooner than I thought I'd be - I'm not going to write a massive note today because this is the chapter that I've been waiting for since I had the idea for this story. Your response so far has been phenomenal, thank you so much! I hope you all enjoy this one :D x**_

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **8:30am. 16th May 2015**

 **Due Torri Hotel, Verona**

The boy done good.

Really, really good.

I was absolutely fuming with him until we arrived at Gatwick (and with myself, for being so horrid), but then he lead my by the hand towards the check-in desk and I saw our destination for the first time.

"Verona?" I asked. "Why Verona?"

"Because everybody does Venice and Rome," he replied. "I went on a school trip when I was about fourteen and I fell in love. I vowed then and there that, someday, when I was in love for real, I would go back and take that person with me."

Ugh. Why does he have to be so poetic when I'm trying to be mad at him?

"You are a lover," I said. "Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above a common bound."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "In fair Verona where we lay our scene."

I rolled my eyes. "That isn't what comes next," I teased. "Honestly, Matthew, what do they teach you in these state schools?"

He nudged my arm with his playfully, and I knew that I couldn't be angry with him anymore.

Because how could I be? When he's put in all this effort to surprise me for my birthday - as we shared a bottle of prosecco (starting as we meant to go on and all that) whilst waiting for our flight, he told me how he'd managed to pull it off. He'd commandeered my passport when he stayed over last weekend and given Anna his spare key and a list of instructions of what to pack. There was a bag in the back of the car and another containing a spare set of clothes for me to change into at the airport…

He was even the one responsible for making sure Evelyn kept my diary clear because, apparently, I won't be back in work until Tuesday.

Oh, and my **whole family** were in on it. They **knew** that he wasn't going to meet us for dinner on time, only to swoop in like nothing was the matter and whisk me away for a dirty weekend in the Veneto.

Well, I don't think it was intended to be a dirty weekend but, after last night, I have absolutely no problem with it going that way.

I want to have sex on everything in this hotel suite.

 **Everything**.

Oh my God. What is the matter with me? I've switched time-zones and turned into a horny teenager!

I tried to sleep on the plane - it's only a three hour flight but it had been such a long day. I was just about to drift off when Matthew decided to wake me up at midnight because he wanted to be the first person to wish me happy birthday…

That's cute and everything but, really, we've been together for ten years now. He knows he's taking a massive risk in waking me up.

But I suppose God loves a trier.

I simply murmured "thanks" and rolled over.

I don't even know why he puts up with me half the time.

Maybe he doesn't and this is just a really elaborate plan to break up with me…

All paid for by the Daily Mail*

*Not really. I don't think he's going to break up with me. Not anymore.

Anyway, I know it's early, but I don't want to waste a single second of today - we've ordered breakfast to our room, and then we're going to go out shopping (to find me something to wear tonight, apparently, and maybe a birthday present if I see anything… a girl can't argue with that), and then, after lunch, I'm to spend the afternoon being pampered before we head out again this evening.

Typical lawyers, aren't we? We can't even go on holiday without having a schedule.

I've woken up to literally **hundreds** of birthday posts, texts, emails, and voicemails (that's not even an exaggeration) and some of them are actually from people I like.

 **Note to Self:** Have a social media detox. Get rid of all the people whom I have absolutely no idea as to why we're friends/mutuals/whatever.

Matthew had also packed cards and some (small) presents from my family and close friends:

 **Mama and Papa:** Upgraded flights and one of those pre-paid travel cards with enough to treat ourselves to dinner.

 **Edith:** A gondola charm for my Pandora bracelet (the three of us always buy each other charms for our birthdays and christmas, it's tradition).

 **Sybil:** A large box of condoms and an 'Introduction to Bondage' kit from Ann Summers… oh and a 'frog prince' charm for my bracelet (it's cute, it's got little crown and everything).

 **Anna:** A bottle of Moet which was delivered to our suite with breakfast this morning

There are also cards from Granny, Grandmama (Mama's mother, Martha, who lives in New York), and Matthew's mother, Isobel. My Aunt Rosamund has simply sent a text which I don't mind because that's just how she is.

Matthew hasn't given me anything yet, not unless you count an orgasm or four…

I am turning into a monster. I have sex on the brain, which is most unlike me.

That being said, he **is** looking rather delicious this morning…

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **2:30am. 17th May 2015  
Due Torri Hotel, Verona **

I can't. I can't even.

That's what they say on the internet, isn't it? When a person is so overcome with feelings that they have absolutely no idea how to respond.

I'm writing this as quick as I can because I don't want Matthew to wake up and find me out of bed, scribbling away in my diary like a teenage girl who's just arrived home from her first date.

But I have to get all of this down whilst it's still fresh in my mind.

Because, for the second time today, I'm not even exaggerating when I say that I have had the best day of my entire life.

I'm now more certain than ever that Matthew **isn't** breaking up with me any time soon, that the Daily Mail has been wrong all along and that there's a perfectly good reason why he's been too busy to spend time with me lately…

And it's all because of what happened tonight.

After breakfast (which may or may not have involved more sex), we got a map from our concierge and took a walk around the city. I was adamant that I wasn't going to buy anything, perfectly happy just to wear my flapper dress again having not had the full benefit of it last night, but that was before I saw the most beautiful Valentino mini-dress…

It was a lot of money.

And I mean an **obscene** amount. My credit card might forgive me one day.

There was no way I was letting Matthew buy that for me, so I let him spend money on a pair of earrings and a bracelet from a charming little boutique. I later learnt that the jewellery was designed and made by the owner's daughter and were true one-of-a-kind pieces - when it comes to jewellery, I like something that's a little bit different and so, when I wear it, I will always be reminded of this weekend and how nice it felt just to get away from everyone and make some new memories…

I couldn't possibly have known how the rest of the day would pan out.

We arrived back at the hotel where I was promptly whisked away to the spa for an afternoon of pampering, as promised. The beauticians were set on going all out, though I put up a fight over my eyebrows and point blank refused to let them anywhere near my face (though I did concede and let them do my nails properly - I keep them tidy, though they're rarely painted or professionally manicured, I don't really have time for all of that)…

And they were weirdly obsessed with my hands.

Strangely so.

Now I've never been to Italy so I don't know if this is a local custom, but it was strange. Of course, it all makes sense now but, as ever, I'm the last to know.

I'm rather proud to say that I'm one of the few women I know who is actually on time for everything - I'm very rarely early, but I'm never, ever late (unless there's a good reason) and so, sure enough, at 6pm on the dot, I was ready to go out again. I knew that I looked nice, but Matthew looked wonderful (I'd like to thank not only God, but also Jack Wills)…

There was something different about him. He didn't look as dishevelled as he had in recent days, the dark circles were all but gone from under his eyes, and he's clean shaven again (which I'm now not sure that I like, but let's just go with it for now). It's amazing what the power of even just a short break can do, but I suspect that he may have spent much of the afternoon sleeping. Bless.

"You look nice," I said, accepting his offer of a glass of champagne and running a hand down the lapel of his jacket.

"What? In this old thing?" he teased. "It's just something I threw on… cheers."

I clinked my glass against his and smiled. He was looking at me strangely - something was definitely going on.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, why would anything would be wrong?"

I lowered my glass and stared right into his eyes, the same way that I do in court when I'm trying to get a difficult witness to break. "Because you're acting strangely."

Matthew, of course, is immune to my cold, hard stares and it doesn't phase him in the slightest. Like me, he has an excellent poker face, and can conceal his emotions when he wants to (again, this is normally in court - unlike me, he wears his heart on his sleeve, which is both a fault and a virtue).

"I'm not, I promise," he replied. "I just want to enjoy a romantic evening with my girlfriend on her birthday. That's not strange, is it?"

I shook my head. "No, I suppose it isn't."

He was definitely up to something, though I was willing to let it go for the time being.

I still had no idea where we were going, not until Matthew managed to hail a cab close to our hotel (because asking the concierge to call one is **far** to easy - honestly, it's what they're paid for. That being said, I'm starting to think that proving you can flag down a taxi abroad is a display of masculinity), and asked the driver to take us to "La Casa di Giulietta."

The House of Juliet.

"But it'll be closed by now," I said. "I read it in the guidebook."

He took hold of my hand and gave me **that** look - the one that he gives me when he's up to something. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do, but that doesn't mean I don't want to know."

"You have absolutely no patience."

"No, I just don't like surprises."

He laughed. "Well this has been a nice one so far, hasn't it?"

"Of course, it's been lovely," I told him, turning my head to look out of the window, watching this beautiful city pass by in a blur. "But I still think you're up to something."

He said nothing and merely squeezed my hand.

Because of course he was up to something…

And that something was a private visit to the 13th century house which attracts thousands of visitors each year. Nobody really knows if Romeo and Juliet ever existed beyond the realms of Shakespeare's imagination, but the story is hailed as one of the most powerful love stories ever told and so I suppose that it's nice to live in a dream every once in a while (even though it was mostly about death and horny teenagers, but I'm trying to be romantic here as was Matthew, evidently). The walls leading into the small courtyard are graffitied with the names of thousands of lovers who came here before us - our guide for the evening was a charming young local girl named Vittoria, who began by telling us a little of the city's history and the famous families that are thought to have inspired the bard. At the back of the courtyard is a statue of Juliet herself, and Vittoria explained that it is considered good luck to touch her right breast…

I saw Matthew wiggle his eyebrows at me.

He is absolutely **not** touching my breasts for luck.

Speaking of which, I don't know what must have been going on with my bra tonight, but they are absolutely killing me!

Anyway, I digress, what I didn't see as I followed Vittoria into the house was Matthew pausing for a moment to study the face of Juliet before very quickly reaching out to place a hand on her breast (that's so odd to write, though it's still better quality erotica than Fifty Shades. Just saying). The house itself was beautiful and, staring up at the high ceilings and taking in the art on the walls, I couldn't help but wonder if this was how people felt upon entering Downton Abbey for the first time…

 **Fun Fact** : Matthew and I actually went on our first 'official' date to the British Museum, and then we watched Romeo and Juliet at the Globe Theatre. It rained and I got a horrendous cold - I hated him for the best part of a week.

Finally, we were led to that famous balcony and even I have to admit that my heart did this strange sort of flutter with excitement.

 **Fun Fact #2:** The balcony isn't an original feature. The guidebook says that it was put there in the 20th Century and serves no other real purpose than as a tourist attraction. Tonight though, I don't give a fig about the guidebook, I'm all about storybook and fairytale endings (which, again, is so unlike me, I know, but then this has been a rather surreal evening).

The view wasn't all that much, but it was still breathtaking - it was a million miles away from the hustle and bustle of London and where I thought that I would have spent my thirtieth birthday. Given the choice, I would pick somewhere like this over a packed and crowded bar any day.

"So, what do you think?" Matthew asked.

"You were right," I replied. "It is beautiful. Is it how you remember."

He shook his head. "No. The company is much better… and the view has certainly improved."

He was flirting with me - I like it when he flirts - but I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that there really was something that was bothering him. "Are you going to tell me what the matter is?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Darling, there's no need to hide things from me," I said. "Surely you know that by now. Is it work? Is it your mother? Is she ill or…"

"Mary," he interrupted. "Nobody's ill. Work is fine, it's just…" he sighed and turned his back on me. "You know that I love you? More than anything.."

Oh God. This was it. He really was breaking up with me.

"Of course I do," I replied, trying to keep my emotions in check, even though I had a feeling that my whole world was about to fall apart (well, if I was getting dumped, at least I was looking **fabulous** in Valentino). "And I understand if this is the end for us, if you want to call it a day after all this time."

He turned back around and stared at me blankly. "What the bloody hell are you dithering on about?" he asked. "Why on earth would I call it a day?"

I shrugged (Granny has told me off about that for as long as I can remember - she says that it's a horrid habit from my childhood I've still not managed to grow out of). "I don't know," I replied. "But maybe it's the fact that we don't see each other very much anymore, and…"

He was laughing. I, on the other hand, was not finding this funny in the slightest.

"I'm not breaking up with you."

"You're not?"

He shook his head and, the next thing I knew, he was down on one knee as he took both of his hands in mine. "No. Mary Crawley… I'm asking you to marry me."

 **OH. MY. GOD.**

I KNOW.

My heart stopped. I didn't know what to say…

I mean, of course I knew what I **wanted** to say, but the words just wouldn't come out.

"Any time today would be nice."

He was looking up at me adoringly, as if the very sun shone from my eyes, and I swear I have never loved him more than I did in that moment.

I smiled back at him - the happiest, brightest, and most genuine smile I've smiled in a long time. "Yes!"

And then he got to his feet and kissed me.

And he didn't stop kissing my until the pop of a champagne cork from somewhere back inside the house reminded us that we weren't alone.

But it didn't matter. Nobody else mattered.

Nobody else would ever matter.

We toasted our engagement and Vittoria kindly took a couple of photographs of the two of us - I made Matthew promise that he wouldn't post them to Facebook or Instagram, and that we'd just enjoy this weekend together before telling our families when we returned home on Monday evening. I wanted to stay at Juliet's house all night, but we had arrangements for dinner and had to leave (the second thing I made Matthew promise was that we would come back one day, perhaps on our anniversary or other special occasion). As we reached the gate, Vittoria offered us a black marker pen and asked if we would like to join the age old tradition and make our mark on the wall.

"Go on," I said. "Your handwriting is neater than mine."

Matthew managed to find a space on the wall, and bit his lip as he took a moment to think about what he wanted to write. In the end, he settled for something quite simple:

 **MRC + MJC - MAY 2015**

 **She said "Sì"!**

And I did, dear reader. I actually did.

 **Fun Fact #3:** I'M GETTING MARRIED!


	5. 17th-19th May 2015

**4:00pm. 17th May 2015  
** **Villa Cortine Palace Hotel, Sirmione**

After the events of yesterday, I thought that Matthew was all out of lovely surprises but apparently not.

We slept in late, and I woke up with a sort of fuzzy, champagne induced hangover…

But not entirely in a bad way.

It sounds somewhat silly and almost cliched to say that I had thought last night had all been a dream, but then I became aware of that still unfamiliar weight on my left hand. The ring is stunning, absolutely beautiful, I think it must be an antique and I'm certain that I've seen it before.

I love it. It's perfect.

I have to admit that I've done that thing where I let the diamonds catch the light on purpose, and I've had so many compliments on it already (though Matthew deserves all of the credit). I don't think I'll ever take it off, mostly because Im absolutely terrified that I'd put it down somewhere and forget about it.

I'm so happy. I can't recall ever being so happy before in my entire life.

Though I'm not happy to be leaving Italy tomorrow.

We left Verona early this morning - Matthew had hired a car (a classic Alfa Romeo, purely to entertain his own boyhood fantasy) and we drove to a beautiful little town on the shores of Lake Garda where we'll stay tonight. It's so beautiful here, so peaceful and tranquil…

I wish we could stay here forever.

We played the tourists again, which is more enjoyable than I remember it being. We visited the Grotte di Catullo, the ruins of an old Roman villa, and the Scaliger Castle.

"One day," Matthew said as we stood on the walls overlooking the lake. "None of this will be ours."

"So an Earldom in Yorkshire isn't enough for you now?" I quipped. "Shame, because I'm only marrying you to secure my family home."

Matthew chuckled - I'm so glad he understands my sense of humour, I doubt there are many others who could put up with me.

"It is beautiful though," I conceded.

"Row us out from Desenzano, to your Sirmione row! So they row'd, and there we landed-"O venusta Sirmio," he began, leaning forward over the wall and staring out towards the horizon. "There to me through all the groves of olive in the summer glow, there beneath the Roman ruin where the purple flowers grow."

I'm engaged to a man who quotes obscure Tennyson poems.

"I wish we could get married somewhere like this," I sighed. "I wish we could do it in secret like Brad and Angelina… just family and close friends."

"And why can't we?"

I turned to look at him - he shouldn't be allowed to look so handsome when I'm trying to have a serious conversation with him. It's awfully distracting. "Because I'm the Prime Minister's daughter. You're the future Earl of Grantham… pomp and circumstance is unavoidable."

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, kissing the top of my head affectionately. "But surely the perk of being the Prime Minister's daughter is that you have MI5 or someone at hand to help you keep a wedding a secret?"

He is utterly ridiculous. I love him so much.

It's rare for me to admit my feelings out loud, though I have to say that I've been having a lot of them lately.

Overwhelming feels. That's another thing that I've learnt that they say on the internet.

Yes. My feels are very overwhelmed indeed.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **10:00pm. 18th May 2015**

 **Chelsea, London**

As much as I'd fallen in love with Italy, it's so good to be home.

Matthew isn't in work tomorrow and has gallantly volunteered to do the unpacking in the morning so, instead, we've put the kettle on and gone to bed with a cup of tea.

And I mean that.

We **actually** went to bed and drank tea.

"So, back to reality," he said as I passed him a mug (tea is my domain. I make a good cup or tea). "I suppose there are some serious conversations to be had."

"Like what?"

"Our wedding. For all we joked in Sirmione, we should probably start thinking about things."

I sighed and climbed into bed next to him. "Do we have to? Can't it wait?"

He looked at me with those sad puppy dog eyes and it was almost as if I'd wounded him. "You do want to get married, don't you?" he asked. "You're not having second thoughts?"

"Of course not!" I replied. "I've never wanted anything more… It's just that I don't want things to be rushed. I want it to be perfect."

He put down his tea and moved his arm so that I could curl up against him - it sounds silly and sappy but, aside from our weekend in Italy, I wish that this could be the place I could stay forever.

"It will be perfect," he says. "I just don't want to wait another ten years."

"What about ten months?"

"A March wedding?"

"Your mathematic skills are impressive, Mr Crawley," I said groggily, exhaustion finally beginning to hit. "But yes, a March wedding sounds nice. Downton is lovely at that time of year."

"We'll marry in Yorkshire then?"

I nodded. "It's tradition for a bride to be married in her home town," I told him. "Besides, it's where we first met."

"Why, Lady Mary, you're a romantic."

"Yes, but don't tell anybody. I have a reputation to uphold."

Matthew laughed. "Well that's that settled then. Though I do have one, tiny, rather pressing concern… we need to tell the family."

Crap. I'd forgotten about that.

I was so content just to keep living in a blissful state of ignorance, oblivious to anyone else but the two of us. They'll be overjoyed, I know that they will, but I'm just not ready for all of the fuss.

Tomorrow is another day though.

Tomorrow, for now, is business as usual.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **9:30am. 19th May 2015  
** **My Office, Branksome Chambers**

Shit has hit the fan.

Massively. I'm not even kidding.

I rarely swear, but it's called for on this occasion.

My day started terribly - I slept through my alarm and ended up rushing frantically around the flat trying to get ready, only just managing to send a quick text to Evelyn to let him know I was most likely going to be late for work this morning (for the first time ever. I'm ashamed at myself). Mercifully, I arrived dead on nine o'clock to a flurry of photographers lurking outside - I had my headphones in, so I wasn't really paying much attention to what they were saying though this is such a regular occurrence for me nowadays that I've learnt how to block it out.

I was a little surprised to see Evelyn waiting for me in the hall to take my coat and umbrella.

"Happy belated birthday," he said, kissing my cheek. "Italy was good, I take it?"

I nodded. "It was beautiful," I replied. I lied about never taking my ring off - today is the exception. I'd hung it around my neck on a spare chain I'd found in my jewellery box. I didn't want anybody finding out before we'd had the chance to tell our parents…

Well, that was the plan.

"You deserved a break," Evelyn said. "Nothing major happened whilst you were away yesterday, your con isn't until three and I've given strict instructions for you not to be disturbed whilst you catch up on everything."

"You're a darling," I told him, though I knew that he'd do this for anyone. Evelyn looks after us - he and his father before him have something of a reputation for being too soft with us…

But, secretly, I think that's just because they're jealous of our results. We're obviously doing something right.

That being said, something really rather odd was going on. Perhaps I was a little bit jet lagged or just overtired, but I couldn't help that think an awful lot of people were staring at me.

And I was about to find out why.

There, waiting for me on my desk, was the most enormous bouquet of flowers I've ever seen. They were beautiful, but just the sight of them gave me this horrid, sinking feeling in my stomach which only intensified when I read the card.

 ** _Mary,_**

 ** _Congratulations from all of us on your engagement._**

 ** _Best wishes for the future to you and Matthew._**

 ** _xx_**

I recognised the handwriting to be Tom's, but was at a complete loss as to how he could possibly know that Matthew and I were engaged.

Unless Matthew told Evelyn that he was planning to propose in order for him to agree to give me time off.

At the time, that seemed like the most logical explanation. Though I now know it's not the case at all.

"Congratulations," said Tom as, right on cue, he arrived with our morning coffee. "I hope you like them."

"They're gorgeous," I smiled. "Though it was a bit of a risk to order them before I'd even said yes."

"We didn't," replied Tom. "We only found out this morning. It's a good job I know a florist who was willing to open up early."

"Did you flirt with her?" I asked with a smirk as I moved the bouquet out of the way and plugged in my phone to charge.

" **Him** , and yes I did… I'm exactly Thomas' type. What? Needs must."

"You're terrible… hang on. What do you mean you only found out this morning?"

Tom looked at me as though I'd just sprouted a second head. "You have seen the news this morning, haven't you?"

I couldn't believe it. I sat down and switched on my laptop, making a beeline for the Daily Mail website (I figured that if anyone was going to be talking about me, it would be the Daily Mail).

Sure enough, it's one of the top headlines on their homepage.

 **"WILL YOU MARY ME?"**

Haha. Original.

 _"A spokesperson for Number 10 has this morning announced the engagement of the Prime Minister's eldest daughter, Lady Mary Crawley, to her long-term boyfriend, Matthew Crawley. Little is known about the details of the proposal, though it's reported that Crawley, 29, popped the question whilst on a romantic break to Italy over the weekend in celebration of Lady Mary's 30th birthday."_

The article goes on to talk about our lives together, our careers and speculation as to when and where our wedding will be. I couldn't read it though…

I felt physically sick.

I took my phone and retreated to the ladies (where, thankfully, I wasn't **actually** sick) - sure enough, there were literally hundreds of texts, emails, voicemails, news and twitter notifications waiting for me.

Most of them were congratulatory, but then there was Edith.

 ** _You are unbelievable_**

 _Good morning to you too. What are you talking about?_

It took her a couple of minutes to text back, but then she had text me about an hour or so ago so I didn't exactly expect an instant response.

 ** _You're engaged. And you told the press before you even told your own sisters? I don't know why I'm surprised, I'm the last to know anything in this family._**

Typical Edith, always jumping to conclusions.

 _I didn't! We were going to tell everybody tonight, but 'someone' has leaked it._

There's another very long pause.

 ** _Oh. Sorry, I didn't think… Congratulations._**

I think that Sybil must be with her, it's not like Edith to back down so easily.

 _Thank you. I'll still see you tonight though - there's something I want to talk to you about_.

I already know that I want she and Sybil to be my bridesmaids (and Anna, of course), and I want to ask them before anybody else can interfere.

Speaking of Anna.

 ** _Oh my God. I am so sorry! I'm trying to find out who this "spokesperson" is._**

 _Anna, it's okay. Well, it's not okay, but it's done now and I'm just going to have to deal with it. Look, this isn't the way I wanted to ask you, but this isn't exactly a perfect situation. Will you be my bridesmaid?_

 ** _YES._**

 ** _I know things probably haven't gone the way you planned, but I really am happy for you both._**

 _Thanks Anna. You're a star._

 ** _Just doing my job :) xx_**

The more I think about it, the more I see similarities between Anna and Matthew - that's a good thing, a really good thing, because they both have this incredible way of keeping me grounded. They would move heaven and earth for the people they love and ask for absolutely no thanks in return.

I'm incredibly lucky to have people like that in my life.

That being said, I am going to hunt down the person who leaked this and kill them with my own bare hands…

And I'm a barrister, so I know how to get away with it.


	6. 19th May 2015

_**This is the second chapter for today so, again, go back and read the previous one first if you haven't done so already. I think this is probably how it's going to be - two updates on a Sunday (one in the afternoon, one in the evening). As always, enjoy and let me know what you think :) xx  
**_ **  
** **5:20pm. 19th May 2015  
** **Back of a car, en route to Downing Street**

I'd been desperate to speak with Matthew all day though, for one reason or another, we kept on missing each other every time I tried to call him. He met me from work and I have to admit that I was absolutely delighted to hear a knock on my door at just before five, only for the one person I craved the most to be standing behind it. I didn't say anything, and I hadn't even closed the door behind us before kissing him.

"I missed you."

"It's been eight hours."

"I know," I replied, keeping my arms wrapped around his neck and pressing my forehead to his, just needing to feel as close as possible to him just for a few short minutes. "But it's been awful. I'm so sorry…"

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry," he said. "I think this may be my fault."

"Why?"

He sighed and moved away from me, flopping himself down behind what had become Tom's desk. "The press have said that I asked your father's permission to marry you… that's true, I did," he said. "Well, sort of. I asked him for his **blessing** … you aren't his property, you don't belong to him, but I just felt as though I needed to make sure that he was happy about it."

He's such a gentleman it's unreal.

"That's very sweet of you, but I don't understand what this has to do with the press release."

"What if he said something?"

"Papa wouldn't do that," I replied, perching myself on the edge of the desk. "I suppose, like any father, it's expected that he might be excited at the prospect of his daughter getting married, just as I'm sure you'll be when our children are all grown up… but he would have had to go through the press team, and I'm certain that Anna would have put her foot down. She holds an awful lot of sway… she's not one to be underestimated."

Matthew was really cutting himself up over this, though I had to make him see that this was absolutely not his fault.

Unfortunately, I was all out of ideas.

"Have you spoken to your mother?"

Matthew nodded. "She's overjoyed," he said with a smile. "She wanted to come down tonight but…"

He started laughing to himself then, and I honestly thought he was finally starting to go mad.

"What?"

"She's got herself a gentleman friend, and she's agreed to accompany him to the theatre this evening."

I couldn't help but smile. "Good on her," I said. I like Isobel, rather a lot actually, and it's so lovely to hear that she's embracing life. "Why is that funny?"

"It's not," Matthew replied. "It's just the way that she said it. I'm glad that she's happy."

"Me too. Though I can't imagine she was too happy about having to find out about her only son's engagement through the national press"

Matthew looked up at me bashfully. "Don't be mad at me," he said. "But she already knew. I text her when you went to the loo during dinner on Saturday night. I'm sorry, but I just couldn't wait. She's promised me it wasn't her though."

I couldn't possibly be mad at him, not for that.

"So she's finally given up pestering you to marry me then?"

"So you'd think," he said, getting to his feet and moving to stand in front of me. "Now she's more desperate than ever for grandchildren."

I smiled up at him. "Well, if we're getting married in March, perhaps that's a conversation we can have around Christmas."

His eyes lit up at this. "So if we're to spend the entire festive season making babies, can I expect my Christmas stockings to be on your legs, as an accessory to some very, very sexy underwear?"

He tried to kiss me, but I pushed him away playfully and laughed. "I said that we could have the conversation, not that we'd actually start trying."

"Yes, I know," he said, trying his luck again as he nuzzled that little spot behind my ear with his nose - the one that he knows makes me go weak at the knees. "But you see, darling, practice makes perfect."

God dammit. I hate it when he's right.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **7:50pm. 19th May 2015  
** **The Cabinet Room, 10 Downing Street**

I know I shouldn't, but I like to sneak in here when I need a moment alone. Somehow, you need to be in a place where momentous decisions are made in order to make momentous decisions of your own.

I honestly feel so betrayed right now.

Maybe betrayed is too strong a word, but I'm hurting and it's all my family's fault.

Obviously, when we arrived, absolutely everybody already knew already and so we were pulled into congratulatory hugs and kisses by my family, and a barrage of questions about where and how the deed was done. By the time Matthew was finished telling the story, Mama and Sybil were positively swooning, and even Edith had a smile on her face.

"Well," said Papa, handing us each a glass of champagne. "I think this calls for a toast. To Mary and Matthew, and to the happiest of lives together."

I met Matthew's eyes across the room, and the way he smiled at me made my stomach flutter.

He's my fiancé. It's all beginning to sink in now.

This feels nice. This feels **normal** and how engagements **should** be celebrated.

But Papa had to go and shatter the illusion.

"Now I don't really want to turn this into a business meeting," he said. "But I was thinking that we should maybe release a formal statement to the press."

Matthew furrowed his brow. "But hasn't that been done already?"

"Yes, but not by us," Papa replied. "I've got people looking into it and trying to find the source. There'll be trouble when we find out, don't you worry."

Papa can be a bit of a prize prat at times, but he's always got my back.

"Well it wasn't one of us, that's for sure," Sybil said. "I didn't even know that you were growing to propose. I only thought Italy was the surprise… did you like my present by the way? I thought it was something you could **both** appreciate."

"Very much," replied Matthew. "My eyes have been opened."

I actually choked on my champagne.

"Are you alright, Mary?" asked Mama.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," I lied. I could strangle Matthew sometimes - the last thing I needed was for him to start alluding to the fact that we may or may not like to experiment with some very light S&M on a Saturday night. "I'm just going to nip to the loo."

When I came back, I was greeted by the sight of Granny whom had obviously been waiting for me. She didn't say anything, she didn't need to, but she had that look on her face that beckoned me to follow.

"So," she said when we were alone. "You're to be a countess at last?"

"Not for a very long time, I hope," I replied.

Gosh, I hadn't thought of it like that. I'm the future Countess of Grantham.

"Regardless, there are a lot of things one has to learn," she told me, taking a drag of her e-cigarette and exhaling a plume of apple scented smoke (this must be the flavour of the week). "Like the art of propaganda for a start."

I was already lost.

"The people have not taken… kindly, to your father's re-election," she began. "Something had to be done in order for him to find favour again."

"Granny, have you been watching Game of Thrones again?"

"Absolutely not, it's far too vulgar," she replied, touching her chest as if she were going to have a massive coronary at the mere thought of that one naked woman she probably saw. "But that is beside the point… My dear, **I** was the one who broke the story about you and Matthew."

I couldn't believe it.

"Why on earth would you do something like that?"

"Because something terrible has happened, something which will destroy your father's reputation. "

"So Matthew and I are just collateral damage, is that it?" I snapped - I don't think I've ever been angry with her before. Frustrated, yes, but never angry. "How could you?"

"One day, you'll learn the lengths that the Ladies Grantham throughout history have gone through to protect this family," she said. "And you'll understand why."

I still didn't understand. Something bad has happened, but she wouldn't tell me what.

Then again, the mood I'm in, I don't really think I want to know right now.

I was rather quiet throughout dinner and excused myself quite quickly soon after. Mama asked if we'd like to stay for a nightcap though I politely declined and told a little white lie about having a nine o'clock hearing. It's not entirely untrue - I am in court in the morning but not quite so early, and I really do have a lot of preparation to be doing.

And so that's how I've ended up in here.

Though I really just want to go home.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **8:30pm. 19th May 2015  
Chelsea, London**

Saying goodnight to Matthew was surprisingly difficult - perhaps it was because we'd barely spent any time apart in the last few days, or maybe because I'm still reeling from this evening's revelations, but I really didn't want him to go. I wanted Papa's driver to take him straight back to his house, though he insisted on getting the Tube and that the walk would do him good.

He's in court tomorrow too. I think two of our hearings might coincide so I'll probably get to spend even just a couple of hours with him.

I'm seriously thinking of asking him to move in. I know I've said before that Chelsea wouldn't be his first choice, but it makes sense…

Especially seeing as how were engaged now. We need to know if we can live together **before** we get married - to get to know each other's habits and quirks and whatnot.

And, rather selfishly, I need somebody to look after me when I'm ill.

I feel horrific.

This is far too much information, I know, but there's something about being sick that makes me wallow in self-pity - it's always in those vulnerable few minutes when you're lying in a heap on the bathroom floor, trying to get your breath back and judge whether or not it's all over.

This sounds utterly ridiculous considering I've just had the most amazing weekend away, but I think I'm exhausted. This isn't the first time it's happened - I forget to look after myself sometimes and I just get so run down. Today has been an absolute whirlwind of emotions and it's no wonder I've got myself all worked up.

God, how am I going to cope planning a wedding?

I'm so tempted to elope and be done with the whole thing.

I may or may not have just priced two return ticket's to Gretna Green…


	7. 20th and 21st May 2015

_**Sorry for the delayed update, I've had a pretty crazy weekend! That explains why this is such a short chapter, but it's more of a bridge towards the next main storyline. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) xx  
**_ **  
**

 **11:30am. 20th May 2015  
** **Chelsea, London.**

I'm dying.

Actually, scratch that, I think I'm already dead.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **2:45pm. 20th May 2015  
** **Chelsea, London**

I've been asleep for the last three hours. I feel dreadful.

I've never taken a sick day in my entire life and I suppose I'm in denial really by trying to tell myself that it doesn't really count when you're sent home from work. I feel so guilty - all of my hearings had to be reallocated last minute, my cons cancelled, and there's a mountain of paperwork on my desk that won't be touched for days now…

But I'm under strict instructions not to think about that.

But maybe it wouldn't hurt just to check my emails…

Okay. Definitely should not have done that.

I really don't understand what the issue is - it's not as though I'm throwing up all over the place, but rather that I'm so run down that I'm apparently no use to anyone. I'm half tempted to Google my symptoms but, knowing my luck, it'll tell me I have some incurable disease.

I'd prefer to live the rest of my days in blissful ignorance, if that were the case.

I've promised to go to the doctors, but they can't fit me in until after five. I can't just sit here and do nothing until then. This is impossible… how do normal people function?

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **4:10pm. 20th May 2015**

 **Chelsea, London**

I may have just started watching 'Outlander'.

 **Note to Self:** Find out if we have any Scottish relatives. I think Matthew would look rather fetching in a kilt for the wedding.

Oh God, I'm becoming delirious.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **7:30pm. 20th May 2015**

 **Still Chelsea, London**

I've never had a blood test before in my entire life and I can't say I'm in any particular hurry to repeat the experience any time soon. I bruise like a peach and my arms look like I've been battered. It's not pretty.

Matthew arrived about an hour ago, I text to say that I wouldn't be meeting him in court because I'd been sent home ill and, of course, that sent him into a blind panic.

Bless him, he doesn't half overreact sometimes.

I greeted him at the door wrapped in my old university hoodie, a blanket, and wearing his pyjama bottoms - I must have looked a right state but, at this point in our relationship, I don't think either of us really care.

"Are you contagious?" he asks, hesitating for a moment before kissing me.

"No, I don't think so," I replied. "But I am sore."

"Why?"

"Because they did some blood tests," I told him. "I don't do needles."

Matthew looked back at me with a raised eyebrow. "You have a tattoo."

I scowled back at him. We don't talk about my tattoo. Ever.

Nobody save for Matthew and my sisters know what it is or where - Sybil, Edith, and I went on a 'girls holiday' the summer Sybil turned eighteen and our matching ill advised body art was something of a secret souvenir. Sybil (who is covered in several tattoos, few of which are actually known about by Mama and Papa) says it's a different sort of pain though, but then she is the most fearless of the three of us.

 **Note to Self:** Price laser tattoo removal. I looked into it a few years ago though never got round to arranging it.

I finally let Matthew go and it was only then that I noticed the Waitrose carrier bag he'd brought with him.

"I wasn't sure if you'd eaten. Hungry?"

I nodded. "Ravenous," I told him.

"You **are** looking after yourself, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. Why?"

"You got like this in University, normally whenever you were close to sitting exams. Everything's alright, isn't it?"

"It's fine, really," I told him. "Is this about the blood tests? Because they're quite routine…"

"I just worry about you, that's all."

"There's no need."

"Well I do. I'm your fiancé, it's my job to worry."

 **Fiancé**. The word still sounds so foreign but in the best possible way - I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing it…

But I still can't wait to be able to call him my husband.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **9:15pm. 20th May 2015**

 **Guess Where?**

Matthew knows about the diary.

I'd been scribbling away as he was cooking, completely in a world of my own as he pottered about the kitchen.

"Are you going to tell me what all this is about?" he asked. "This diary."

I shook my head. "You'll think me silly."

"There are probably lots of things I do that you'll find silly once we live together."

"You're not worried about that, are you?" I asked. " It doesn't bother you that we haven't lived together before?"

"No. Why would it?"

I shrugged. "Oh I don't know. It's just… what if there are things that I do that you can't stand? What if I hate the fact that you just leave your shoes by the door instead of putting them away? Which I do, just for the record. What if…"

"It'll be fine," he chuckled. I'm so glad to see that I'm a source of amusement to him. "It wasn't so long ago that barely anybody lived together before they got married. Look at our parents, none of them did and I think they did just fine."

"Yes, but that was in the eighties," I replied. "This is **now**. It's a whole different century!"

"What are you trying to say, Mary?"

I knew that if I didn't broach the subject now, I never would. "How long have you got left on your tenancy?"

"A month or two, give or take a few weeks. Why?"

I put aside my diary for a moment and curled up on the sofa as he sat down next to me. "Well I was thinking that, instead of looking for somewhere new, you could just… move in here."

From the look on his face, you'd think that I'd just told him I was pregnant with his triplets. "I'm sorry, you want me to what now?"

"Why is it so shocking?" I asked. "We're engaged. Perhaps it's time we lived together… besides, this way, you can give your full attention to planning the wedding instead. Besides, what's the point of looking for somewhere new if you're going to have to move again in less than a year?"

He took a couple of moments to think about my proposition, though I could tell from the dimples in his cheeks that he was fighting the urge to smile.

"I suppose it does make sense."

"Does this mean that you're warming to Chelsea?"

"Absolutely not!" he replied. "But I love you more than a postcode."

Wow. And who said romance was dead?

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **01:35am. 21st May 2015**

 **Back of a Car, En Route to Downing Street**

I'm so scared. I can't stop shaking.

I've been woken up in the middle of the night by one of Papa's aides and summoned straight to Number 10.

Apparently, there's some sort of family emergency though nobody will tell me what.

I don't like it when people won't tell me what's going on and so I can't help but assume the worst…

Please don't let anybody be dead or seriously injured. I'm not sure my stress levels could take it.


	8. 21st - 23rd May 2015

**02:45am. 21st May 2015  
** **Grantham House, Belgravia**

Granny isn't dead.

Though that may soon change because, for the second time this week, I could actually murder her.

I was understandably panicked when I realised that the car wasn't taking me to Number 10, but rather our family home in Belgravia, the same one that Granny still lives in after insisting that she follow us down to London after Papa was elected the first time. There have been a few occasions in the last year or so where we've been concerned for her health but, this time, I couldn't help but assume the worst.

Imagine my surprise when I was led by her butler into the old drawing room and saw her sat there as if nothing was wrong.

"Mary," she gasped. 'You're here. Good."

I stared back at her, utterly flabbergasted.

"Close your mouth dear, it isn't ladylike to stand around gawping like a goldfish."

She is unbelievable.

"Granny! I though you were dead."

" _Pish_ ," she replied with a wave of her free hand, the cane of her walking stick gripped firmly in the other. "Not likely… though things are dire. I've sent for some tea."

"It's quarter to two in the morning," I said. "How dire can things possibly be?"

"I have something to tell you, something that will shake the very foundations of this family."

Realising that I was going to be here for some time, I took a seat opposite her. I wasn't convinced as Granny often has a habit of over exaggerating things.

"I'm listening," I replied, stifling a yawn as I tried to sound interested.

She opened her mouth to begin her tale, though paused for a moment as the butler arrived with the tea which I politely declined (I have a strict no caffeine after 10pm rule). Only once the door was firmly shut did she begin again.

"Your mother has been having an affair."

I laughed. "Have you been reading the Daily Mail again?" I asked. "You do know that half of the things they say about us don't have an ounce of truth in them."

"I know, and I wish this were one of them."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Where on earth have you got this from then?"

"Your mother never has been very subtle," she replied. "She's American, it's not in her nature. I've done what I can to stop this being leaked into the public sphere."

That's when the penny dropped.

"Hang on, is this the reason why you told the press about my engagement?"

"I did tell you that the women of this family will go to extraordinary lengths to protect those that they love."

I still didn't believe her, but I think that my exhaustion has an awful lot to do with it. "So why am I here now?"

"Because now it's your turn," she said, stirring a spoonful of honey into her Earl Grey (one thing Granny and I do have in common is the way we take our tea). "I need you and Matthew to announce the date for your wedding, and that you'll be marrying in August."

"AUGUST!" I exclaimed. "There's no way we could put together a wedding that quickly."

"Well I know people who can," she said. "I've already made enquiries and drafted the guest list…"

"No, Granny," I protested. "We've already decided on a March wedding and that's final."

She pursed her lips - Granny's a lot like Miranda Priestley from the Devil Wears Prada in some respects, like the way that you can tell **exactly** what she's thinking from the look on her face.

"Fine. Then on your head be it."

" _No, on yours_ ," I thought to myself. " _You summoned me here in the middle of the night for a bit of tabloid gossip_."

"Is that everything?" I asked. "Because I'd quite like to go back to bed now… anyway, I don't understand why you couldn't have told me this over the phone."

"Because I've seen what those journalists do," she replied. "They put those… **insects** into telephones so that they can pry into other people's conversations. The News of the World could have been listening to us right now."

"Bugs, Granny," I said with an exasperated sigh, massaging my temples as I swore I felt a migraine coming on. "And the News of the World has been out of print for about four years now."

"Details. The point remains the same…. just remember what I said about protecting this family."

Something tells me she's overreacting.

 **Note to Self:** Have Granny's access to the internet severely restricted. And switch my phone off before going to bed.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **5:40pm. 23rd May 2015  
London Paddington**

It's all very last minute, but I've decided to get away from London for the weekend and spend some time with Sybil in Cardiff. She's finished her exams already and I haven't really had the chance to celebrate my engagement with her so I suppose we both have an excuse for a bottle of prosecco or two. She doesn't know yet, but I've booked us into the St David's Hotel in the Bay.

It was Matthew who encouraged me to go, convinced that some time away with my sister would do me the world of good.

"Just go," he said. "Have fun, relax. You deserve a break, this week has been manic."

I sighed wearily. "Was it really only last weekend that we were in Italy and everything seemed so perfect."

"It still is perfect," he replied, coming up behind me as I tired to make tea, trapping me between his body and the worktop. "We're getting married, aren't we?"

"Of course we are."

"So then it's still perfect."

There are times when his blissful naivety is absolutely endearing and this is one of them. "Granny thinks we should get married in August."

"This August?"

I nodded.

'Hmmm… we **could** do it I suppose."

"Matthew!" I chided. "We agreed on March."

"Then let's officially set a date," he said. "You go to Cardiff for the weekend and I'll start making some enquiries. I'll even look after Carson."

Carson is my cat. He's a two year old grey tabby named after our old butler when we lived at Downton. I'm not sure if he was flattered or not by the comparison, but they both have the same very proud yet somewhat stern look though are big softies underneath it all.

"Make yourself at home," I said with a smirk. "Maybe it'll convince you to move in."

He chuckled and kissed me quickly. "We'll see."

I'll convince him one way or another - of the two of us, I've always been the more practical one in this relationship and so I just need a little time to make him see sense.

Speaking of Matthew, he's just text.

 ** _Saturday 27th March 2016. St. Stephen's Church, Downton. 12:30pm xx  
_**

Blimey, that was quick.

 _It's a date_ xx

I have a wedding day! The next then months are going to absolutely fly by and there's still so much to do. I refuse to let my family interfere - this is **our** day, and it will be on **our** terms.

Of course, I'm open to suggestions but if I don't like them then it's just tough.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **10:25pm. 23rd May 2015**

 **St David's Hotel, Cardiff Bay**

There's something oddly calming about this city, especially in this part. It's a lot smaller than London and far less crowded - it's a place where you're about half an hour from the hills in one direction and the beach in the other. I still remember Papa's face when Sybil said that she was turning down a place at Oxford to come here but, in all honesty, I never could picture her there. Sybil is the kind of person who needs freedom, not the pomp and circumstance of Oxbridge traditions. Sybil wants to be a doctor and specialise in paediatrics - she's even thinking about going off to Africa or somewhere once she's qualified which I think is really rather admirable.

Or at least that was the plan last time I was speaking with her.

Her new career aspirations surprised even me.

'Don't tell anyone," she said. "Because I haven't done all my research yet, but I'm thinking of joining the army."

"The **army**?!" I replied, almost choking on an olive. "Are you mad?"

"It makes perfect sense," she said. "I'll join up after I graduate. That way, I can see the world **and** get practical experience. The pay is decent, and it's not as though I'm tied down to anyone here."

Her recent break-up is still getting to her, I can tell. Sybil had been with Larry since she was seventeen and he was her first real boyfriend. I don't think that she thought they were going to be together forever, but young love is a strange thing and so it's understandable that she might be feeling a little bit lost right now.

"Papa is going to kill you."

"I know," she replied. 'Which is precisely why I haven't told him… I still have a few more years left at uni before I have to make any real decisions though. Like I said, it's just a thought."

"Well, just as long as you're still around on 27th March next year, that's fine by me."

Sybil's eyebrows shot up over the rim of her champagne glass (she'd brought me to a really rather fancy bar in the city centre - it's a converted church and most definitely **not** your average student hangout. They do bottles of champagne for £30 on a Friday night which is actually a bit of a bargain). "Is that the day that I think it is?"

"If by that you mean my wedding day then, yes, it is… and I have something I want to ask of you. Will you be my maid of honour?"

She squealed so loudly that it drew an awful lot of attention from the tables around us and more than one less than subtle whisper of " _Aren't they the Prime Minister's daughters?"_

"Mary, of course I will!" she said. "But it's a big responsibility."

"I know, and I know it's one you can handle which is why I chose you. There is just one condition though."

"Name it."

"No tacky hen party. I don't think Granny would take to kindly to being photographed drinking a Jägerbomb though a straw shaped like a penis."

"Who drinks Jägerbombs through a straw?" asked Sybil, clearly missing the point here. "Though, come to think of it, I would pay good money to see that happen."

"I mean it, Sybil."

Alright, alright," she conceded. "No tacky hen parties. Though I do have a caveat of my own."

"Go on."

"I'm not wearing pink."

Gosh, I haven't even thought about colour schemes or bridesmaids dresses, invitations, guest lists or any of it - I know that I've only been engaged for a week but I'm not sure how soon is too soon to start planning these things. I've never really been involved in the planning of a wedding, I just turn up as a guest and head straight for the bar, but I suppose you can learn how to do anything from Google…

I can see my desk turning into something akin to Elle's in Legally Blonde 2.

Alright, maybe that's a bit far, but somebody **did** leave a copy of 'You and Your Wedding' on top of the briefs that were delivered to me this morning.

I think Matthew would look lovely in navy - it's a colour that suits him, it compliments his eyes.

But then he wears a normal suit to work everyday and, when I think of weddings, I think of traditional morning suits and ascot ties. I think I want tradition, but with a slight modern twist.

I'm yet to figure out what that twist will be.

We've already text Edith and summoned her back to London next month so that we can start dress shopping - to be quite honest, I don't really care about much else so long as I actually get married and I can do it in a pretty dress…

And maybe a new pair of Manolo Blahniks.

And there **has** to be champagne.

Alright, I do care about it. I care about it all.

My inner control freak is going to be in her absolute element.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **8:45am. 24th May 2015**

 **St David's Hotel, Cardiff Bay**

What the actual fuck is wrong with my family?

Mama just called to say that she's on her way to Cardiff.

She's also apparently left Papa.

Shit. What if Granny was right?


	9. 23rd May 2015

**1:30pm. 23rd May 2015  
** **University Hospital of Wales, Cardiff**

This is officially the worst week ever.

For a woman who has apparently just left her husband, Mama looked surprisingly calm and collected when she arrived in Cardiff. She didn't have much with her, which made me suspect that she either doesn't plan to stay very long or she packed in a hurry.

"Has Papa been shagging his secretary?"

"SYBIL!" I chastised before turning to Mama. "Well, has he?"

Mama shook her head. "No, it's nothing like that…not as such."

"What do you mean not as such?" I asked. My heart was pounding - I refused to believe that there was any truth in Granny's words the other night, but the seeds of doubt had been planted and they were already starting to grow out of control.

"He thinks I'm the one that's been having an affair."

"That's utterly ridiculous!" Sybil exclaimed, but her face fell when she noticed that Mama couldn't look either of us in the eye. "Isn't it?"

"It's not how it looks," Mama replied tearfully. "I may have been seeing someone, an old friend from college whom I haven't seen in years. We go to dinner, we have coffee and we just… we have a nice time."

"I bet you do."

"Sybil, please," I snapped.

"Girls, I love your father very much," Mama continued. "I would never, ever do anything to hurt him or to jeopardise our marriage."

"So, if there's no truth in it, why have you left him?" Sybil asked, and I have to admit that I was thinking the exact same thing.

Mama sighed. "Because he believes that I have," she said. "The trust has gone."

The last few months can't have been easy for Mama - Papa was rarely home, always out on the campaign trail and his job has a habit of taking him all over the world for prolonged periods of time. I can understand if she'd perhaps become lonely at times, and it wouldn't be a surprise if tensions had mounted.

"Maybe you just need a few days apart," Sybil suggests. "Please don't get a divorce."

"I don't know what's going to happen, though you should be prepared… the story will be all over the press in the next few days. I don't worry about what's been said about me but, if they bring the three of you into it then that's unforgivable… none of you deserve this mess."

"Neither do you Mama," Sybil replies, getting up from where we were sat on the bed and moving to perch on the arm of Mama's chair, wrapping her arms around her in the type of embrace I haven't seen her give since she was a little girl.

I couldn't believe it. Granny was right - well, not completely right if what Mama was saying. There's no smoke without fire, I suppose, and Mama does have plenty of male friends and acquaintances though nobody's ever questioned any of her relationships before.

So what was so different about this one?

An old friend from her university days.

Were they always just friends? Or were they something more?

To be honest, I don't really know all that much of Mama's life before Papa. I only know that she was an artist and that they met when she studied at Cambridge for a semester in her second or third year. It was an unconventional romance, and there were many in Papa's social circle who still thought her to be inferior despite her family's fortune and her Ivy League education.

They fought so hard for their marriage to be accepted, it would be such a shame for them to throw it all away now after more than thirty years.

"Mary? Mary are you alright?"

I'd drifted off into a complete world of my own - the room suddenly felt incredibly hot and claustrophobic, my head was pounding and I desperately needed some air.

"I think I'm going to go for a walk," I said. "It's awfully warm in here."

"Do you wants to come with you?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine… I just need a moment."

I grabbed my bag and jacket and decided to take a stroll around the waterfront. The second I stepped into the lift though, I knew something wasn't right - I felt sick and dizzy, just as I had done a few days earlier only so much worse…

The next thing I remember, I was sitting on the floor with a handsome paramedic asking me for my name and if I knew where I was.

Mama was mortified and, if today hadn't been stressful enough for her already, this sent her positively hysterical. Despite my protests, I ended up being taken to hospital for a check up (someone swore they saw me hit my head) but I'm honestly fine…

Which is why it's completely pointless that I'm here.

The doctor's just arrived. Good, maybe I'll be out of here soon.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **3:00pm. 23rd May 2015  
** **Platform 1, Cardiff Central Station**

I've gone into shock. That's the only possible explanation.

I'm so completely overwhelmed that I have to write everything down if I'm to make sense of it later.

I didn't hit my head, as it turns out, so I definitely don't have concussion and the doctor was happy to discharge me…

Which is good news.

The bad news?

They had my blood test results on my medical records.

"You've been to your GP a couple of times in the last few weeks," said the doctor as he read through my notes (he looked as though he'd only been out of university for about five minutes and, as I learnt from Sybil, I wasn't far off - he was the former captain of the medics hockey team apparently, and only graduated last year). "Are you feeling stressed?"

"No more than usual," I replied. "But it's to be expected in my line of work."

"And everything's fine in your personal life."

I quickly glanced at my mother and then back to the doctor. "Fine. Actually, I just got engaged."

The doctor smirked. "I know, I saw it in the paper," he replied. "And is there any chance you might be pregnant?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm very strict with my pill."

The doctor nodded in understanding. "Alright well, I'll be back in a couple of minutes to run some tests… Hello, Sybil," he added, greeting my sister as he left the cubicle.

"Good looking, isn't he?" she asked once he'd gone, handing us each a cup of coffee (and I use that term loosely).

"You should ask him out for a drink," I teased.

Sybil shook her head. "I'm not Huw's type."

"Oh Sybil," said Mama. "You really shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

"I'm not. I'm literally not his type… he's gay. Anyway, enough about me, what did he say about you."

"He wants to do some tests," I told her. "But if that means more needles then I'm leaving right now."

Thankfully, there would be no need for anymore needles.

Doctor Huw (which I've only now realised sounds like 'Doctor Who' - I wonder if he gets that a lot?), returned about thirty seconds later looking a little bit flustered and holding a piece of paper in his hands. "Ummm, Lady Mary," he said and I cringed at the use of my full title. "Have you spoken with your GP since your last appointment on Thursday?"

"No, why?" I asked.

"Well, I'm sure your doctor would have wanted to tell you themselves but, I suppose I'll just have to do."

"Tell me what?" I asked, not even noticing that Mama had moved to stand beside the trolley I was perched on and taken my hand in hers. "Is it something serious?"

"Potentially, though not life threatening. It depends which way you look at it."

Evidently, bedside manner is something that isn't on the syllabus at university - the boy was nice enough, but he clearly lacked tact.

"You're pregnant."

"Oh Mary," Mama sighed happily, clutching my hand tighter.

I, on the other hand, wasn't quite so overjoyed by the news.

Because there was no way it was true.

"That's not possible," I said. "I want a second opinion.

Doctor Huw exchanged a look with the future Doctor Crawley who, unlike Mama and I, didn't seem shocked by the news. "Alright," he said. "I'll fetch one of the nurses and we can do an ultrasound if you like."

I nodded and, as Doctor Huw left to get the nurse and the ultrasound machine, I let go of Mama's hand and flopped down onto the bed. I didn't know if I wanted to throw up or cry.

"I can't be pregnant," I said, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Like I said, I'm on the pill… I never miss a single one."

"Mary, this isn't necessarily a bad thing," said Mama. "This could be the making of you."

I wasn't sure how to take that.

"No it won't be," I replied. "Because it's not happening."

"Oh my God," Sybil piped up. "You're like one of those women you read about in Take A Break who didn't know that they were pregnant."

"You're really not helping, Sybil," I snapped.

"I'm sorry," she apologised. "But you honestly had no idea? You've not had any morning sickness?"

"I have been sick, but only once and I don't think it was in the morning."

"Any changes in your appetite or strange cravings?"

I thought about this one for a minute. "Well, I'm hungry all the time, but that's normal when I'm stressed… and I've been on the go all the time so I've eaten a lot of pasta."

And then I thought about what I'd been putting with the pasta.

Cheese.

So much cheese.

I'd been craving the stuff all week - the stronger the better, which is unusual for me because I usually prefer something milder.

And salted popcorn. I never eat salted popcorn - it's unnatural.

"Are your boobs sore?"

"A little, though that's probably because my time of the month could be coming up."

Sybil nodded, taking in everything I was telling her. "Speaking of which, when was your last period?

"Last month," I replied. "I'm sure it was… Mama, you know, I've always had it around the sixteenth of every month since I was fifteen." I'd started my periods when I was thirteen, but they'd taken a couple of years to become regular.

"Mary, it's the twenty-fourth."

My face dropped and, all of a sudden, I could visualise the full box of tampons sitting in Matthew's bathroom cabinet. I bought them back in April because I didn't have any at home…

I still didn't have any at home.

I hadn't needed a tampon since March.

And, oh God, when was the last time we used a condom?

I buried my face in my shaking hands - I couldn't deny it any longer. I really was… am pregnant.

Sybil didn't have the chance to probe me any further as Doctor Huw and his assistant arrived with the ultrasound machine.

I've seen them do this on television so many times, and I had though that my experience was going to be something akin to Rachel's in Friends and I wouldn't be able to see anything, but I was wrong…

Because there, on the screen, was unmistakably a baby.

I finally cried then, though whether it was from happiness, terror, or shock I'm still not certain.

"I'd say you're about three months gone," the nurse smiled. "Congratulations."

Three months?

I wasn't just pregnant, I was very pregnant.

And that put my due date around Christmas.

"I'm going to be an aunt!" Sybil gasped with delight. "Oh Matthew will be over the moon."

Matthew. I hadn't even thought about Matthew.

I felt guilty for leaving so early, but we all agreed that it was for the best that I went back to London this afternoon so that I could tell him myself as soon as possible. Mama, who had driven to Cardiff, dropped me off at the train station and promised that she'd just enjoy a weekend with Sybil before making any rash decisions about what to do with Papa.

Doctor Huw (I've scribbled out 'Who' so many times) discharged me with some leaflets about what to expect when you're expecting, recommendations for pre-natal vitamins, and printouts of the ultrasound scan.

Matthew's phone is going straight to voicemail. Bloody typical - why can I never get hold of him in times of crisis.

"Hi, it's me… umm, I'm coming home. Something's happened and… I really need to speak to you. Don't try to call me back, the signal's terrible. I'll see you in a few hours. I love you."

I'm not ready for this.

I'm going to be a terrible mother.


	10. 23rd May 2015 (Continued)

**10:10pm. 23rd May 2015  
** **Chelsea, London**

I've become a stereotypical hysterical pregnant woman.

Poor Matthew, I really don't know how he's going to cope over the next six months if tonight is anything to go by.

He was still here when I arrived home, sitting on the sofa reading the paper with Carson curled up half asleep in his lap. He practically jumped up when he saw me walk in, startling to poor cat who hissed at him and ran off to hid under the kitchen table.

"Mary, I've been so worried," he said, pulling me into a tight hug before I'd even had the chance to put down my bag. "I got your message and… darling, what's happened?"

I pulled away from him, still in the same shocked state I'd been in back in Cardiff. "I… I think you should sit down."

He helped me out of my coat and hung it up on the hook by the door. " **I** need to sit down? You look awful, are you feeling alright."

"Not really," I replied. 'I've spent the afternoon in hospital. I fainted."

He sat down beside me and the colour had completely drained from his face. "They know what's wrong with you, don't they? And it's serious."

I nodded. "It is, rather… I'm pregnant."

His jaw dropped.

"Well say something."

He smiled - that same gloriously happy smile that I'd last seen when I accepted his proposal in Verona a week ago. "Mary, how wonderful!" he exclaimed and I could already see the tears in his eyes. He leaned in to kiss me but I pulled away abruptly and started at the floor.

"Is it?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because it changes **everything**!" I cried. Literally. I was crying, and not the same happy tears that Matthew had been holding back. "This isn't what we planned… it's too soon."

"Too soon?" he replied. "We've been together for ten years. We're getting married. We've talked about children so what does it matter when they arrive?"

"Oh, why must everything be so black and white with you?!" I snapped. "I can't do this! I'm not ready to have a baby."

I've never really run away from anything in my life, but this was one of the rare moments where I just had to try. It was raining and I didn't really feel like going outside, and Matthew would follow me into the bedroom, so I decided to lock myself in the bathroom.

Very mature of me, I know.

"Mary, Mary please," he begged as I slammed the door behind me. "I'm sorry. I know you're scared, I know that it's not like you to admit it but you are… and that's okay because I'm a little bit scared too. I think that's only natural. I love you so much and, for years, I've dreamed of marrying you, of us raising a family and growing old together. Last week, you granted the first of my three wishes and, whilst the second has come a lot sooner than I imagined, this is a **good** thing. From what I know, and that really isn't a lot, it seems that you can plan babies all you want but nobody is every truly ready for them. You're right, it is going to change everything, but what I am certain of is that we're going to do this together and we'll be absolutely fine… and I also know that you're going to make the most wonderful mother. Take your time, darling. Stay in there as long as you want but, when you're ready to come out and talk, I'll be here."

His impassioned speech made me cry even harder. His unwavering faith in me is completely overwhelming at times and I don't think anyone has ever believed in me as much as Matthew has. He's my champion, my knight in shining armour in those rare moments when I haven't got the strength to save myself…

He's also the father of my child. **Our** child.

I cried for about another ten or fifteen minutes, the sobs eventually subsiding enough to allow me to get my breath back and calm myself down. I got up from the toilet seat and finally had the courage to look at myself in the mirror…

What an absolute mess I was.

My eyes were swollen and puffy and there was mascara streaked down my cheeks. I took off my make up, washed my face and, with a deep breath, decided that I absolutely had to confront the situation head on like the mature, reasonable adult that I am.

I hadn't expected to quite literally fall over Matthew as I left the bathroom.

He was sitting on the floor, clearly having had his back to the door, and reading something on his phone. He didn't say anything, merely looked at me sympathetically as he got to his feet and gladly welcomed me into his arms as I practically threw myself at him.

"I'm sorry," I said, burying my face into his chest. "I'm sorry for overreacting."

Again, he didn't say anything, but took me completely by surprise as he swept me up off my feet and carried me into the bedroom.

"Put me down!" I protested.

Which he did, dropping me rather unceremoniously onto the bed before lying down next to me. I held my breath for a moment as his hand ghosted underneath my t-shirt and came to rest on my stomach.

"We're really having a baby?"

"I suppose we are, yes."

"When?"

"December."

"Wow… that's quite soon."

"I know," I agreed, threading my fingers through his hair. "It's going to fly by. Will we be ready?"

"I suppose we'll have to be," he replied. "But a baby and a wedding to plan for at the same time is going to be hard. Speaking of which, we should probably think about moving the former forward."

I furrowed my brow at him. "Why on earth would we do that?"

"Because the Prime Minister's daughter having the future Earl of Grantham's baby out of wedlock is quite the scandal," he teased.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "This isn't nineteen-twenty," I replied. "I'd much rather have a three month old baby in my wedding photos than look fat and ugly."

Matthew laughed. "There's no way on God's earth that you could **ever** look fat or ugly."

"I'll remind you of that in a few months," I replied.

He went quiet for a moment and I could see that he was deep in thought about something. "Mary, at the hospital, did they… did they show you anything?"

I didn't catch his meaning at first. "You mean did they do a scan? Yes, they did. It's how they knew how far along I am."

"Oh," he replied a little sadly. "I would like to have seen it."

Remembering what was in my bag, I kissed his forehead before dashing off into the living room, returning a few seconds later and handing him the small black and white picture that had set our lives on a completely new path in the course of a single afternoon.

I've can't remember the last time I saw him concentrate so hard one something.

"This is… I mean… **wow** ," he said eventually. "We did this? What do you suppose it is?"

I rolled my eves. "A baby, obviously. Really, Matthew, I'm getting worried about the quality of your education," I said, following on from my teasing last week when he'd partially misquoted Shakespeare.

"I know it's a baby," he replied. "But do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. It's too soon to know."

"Do you want to?"

That was something else that I hadn't really thought about, but my answer came so quickly that, deep down, I think I'd always known what my answer would be in this situation. "No, I'd quite like it to be a surprise."

Matthew smiled. "Me too."

"This week's been full of surprises, hasn't it?"

"All good though."

I shook my head. "No, not all of them… my parents might be getting divorced."

I told him everything then - about how it was Granny that was the one who leaked the news of our engagement, the reason why she summoned me to Grantham House in the middle of the night, and how Mama had all but confessed to extra-marital meetings (I'm reluctant to use the word affair - innocent until proven guilty and all that).

"Crikey," he said. I swear he is the only person I've ever met in real life who actually uses that word. "Though remember how I said that I thought it was all my fault that the secret was out? Well, it still sort of is?"

"How?"

"I told her that I was going to ask you to marry me."

" **You** told Granny?" I asked, shocked for the millionth time today. "Why?"

"Well I had to get a ring from somewhere, didn't I?"

I looked at the diamond on my hand and, suddenly, I'd remembered where I'd seen it before. Back in Downton, there's a portrait gallery depicting the past Earls and Countesses of Grantham - my favourite of all of them is the one of Granny and Grandpapa. She must have been about Sybil's age when they got married but she looked… beautiful.

And I remember the ring.

For as long as I can remember, she's only ever worn her wedding ring - a simple gold band on her left hand but when I was about six or seven, she'd caught me staring at the photograph and the ring she wore.

"Don't worry," she'd said to me. "You can have it one day."

And now I do. It's a family heirloom, I know that much, but I'm not sure where it came from before it was given to Granny.

It's all really rather romantic.

"It's fine," I said. "It's done now. There's no point dwelling on the past."

"I'm sorry you had to cut your weekend away short," Matthew said. "But… maybe we could do something or go somewhere."

"It's too short notice. I doubt we'll even be able to get into a Travelodge this close to a Bank Holiday."

"Darling, where I'm thinking is **much** better than a Travelodge," he smiled. "I am taking you for the best Sunday roast in the north of England."

"I don't know," I sighed. "I'd feel like we were imposing."

"Don't be ridiculous. She'll love it."

And so, five minutes later, it was set that we'd be paying Matthew's mother a visit in Manchester.

Isobel was overjoyed when he called to ask if it was alright that we went up to stay. We've been meaning to go for ages but, what with work and everything, we really haven't had the chance. I suggested that she should be the next one to find out about our little surprise and I just know she's going to be absolutely over the moon.

"She can't wait to see us," he said, reaching for his laptop so he could book our train tickets. "And I have to admit, I'm quite looking forward to seeing her again."

I sometimes forget just how far away Matthew lives from his family. I see mine most days and I know that they're close by whenever I need them - for him, it's a two hour train journey (six by car, which we've vowed **never** to do again because it was just awful) and, to be honest, I can't remember the last time he went home.

I think this will be good for him. For us.

"So what's the plan?" I asked, finally feeling a little calmer as I sat curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and Carson purring happily as I scratched between his ears. "Do you want me to meet you at Euston in the morning so you can go back to yours and pack a bag?"

"Why would I need to do that?" he replied with a knowing look. "Most of my things are here now."

As it turns out, he'd been planning to move himself in whilst I was away over the weekend.

I knew I'd win in the end. I always do.


	11. 24th and 25th May 2015

**12:30pm. 24th May 2015  
** **Platform 2, Manchester Piccadilly Station**

I should probably point out that Matthew didn't actually live **in** Manchester per say, but about half an hour away by train in a small town called Marple which is close to the border with Derbyshire.

"I think we just missed one," he said, staring up at the huge departure boards. "It's a fifteen minute wait for the next one."

"Shall we wait on the platform?"

"Actually, I need to nip to Boots. I've forgotten my toothbrush."

I rolled my eyes - it was still early and, naturally, that meant that I was irritable (though I suppose now I can use hormones as an excuse too). "I told you to check the bathroom before we left."

"I know, and I'm sorry but I'll be two minutes. Besides, if we miss this train then there's another one fifteen minutes later."

"But I don't want to wait another fifteen minutes," I pouted. "I just want to get there."

I know I sounded petulant and selfish, but it was true - I'd been up half the night fretting over absolutely anything and everything, so I think it was only natural that I didn't want to prolong our travelling any further.

Matthew sighed. "Alright. Two minutes… I promise."

I followed him across the crowded concourse, ducking and weaving through crowds of shoppers and revellers who had come into the city to make the most of the bank holiday weekend. As Matthew searched for a toothbrush, I loitered around the aisles of the tiny shop and tried not to draw attention to myself….

Which is difficult when the shelf that you've chosen to loiter around is the one displaying the pregnancy tests.

"Do you need anything?" He asked.

"Well… actually."

He raised his eyebrows at me (though it doesn't quite have the same effect as when I do it). "Are you serious?"

"Completely."

"How much more proof to you need?"

"Shhhh!" I hissed. "Keep your voice down… I don't know, just… **more**. I'm still trying to process everything and I just need to do this because it's how normal people find out."

Matthew smirked as he took one of the tests of the shelf. "But you **aren't** normal people, you're my Mary and I wouldn't have it any other way."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Now isn't the time for poetry," I replied. "Now, hurry up or we'll miss the train."

"Mary?"

"What now?"

"There isn't a self checkout."

I peered over towards the till and, sure enough, there was only a desk behind which stood a very disinterested looking, acne riddled teenage boy. "I doubt he'll recognise either of us," I said. I have to admit though, I am still a little paranoid that someone may have seen us - it was enough to have my engagement plastered across the national press so I'm not sure how I'll cope if the news of my pregnancy is leaked before we' ready to say anything a la the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge.

I decided to wait outside, less than impressed to discover that our train was delayed, and almost jumped out of my skin when Matthew snuck up behind me.

"Did you get it?"

"I got it. Are you going to do it now?"

"I'm not doing a pregnancy test in a public toilet!" I replied. "Honestly, what sort of peasant do you take me for?"

He laughed and kissed my temple as he wrapped his arm around my waist.

I still have no idea how or why he puts up with me.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **7:20pm. 24th May 2015  
Marple, Greater Manchester**

Well the cat's out of the bag.

And, just like everything else this week, the news didn't come out exactly as we'd planned.

Isobel wanted to come and get us from the station when we arrived in Marple, though we felt as though we'd imposed enough already and insisted on getting a taxi. It's years since I came up here - Isobel always seems to have come to us in London of Yorkshire whenever we've seen each other - and the excitement on Matthew's face was palpable as the cab drove through the familiar streets of his youth.

"You've missed it, haven't you?"

"I have rather," he replied, staring out of the window. "I love London, but I miss the tranquility of home."

I sometimes wonder if I've been incredibly selfish - after we graduated, Matthew and I both moved to London to complete our post-graduate studies. It was a given that I'd never leave, but a part of me always thought he'd go back home. I've never actually asked him outright but, if the reason he stayed was me then I'd feel really rather guilty.

But then this is Matthew we're talking about.

Chances are, it **was** because of me.

I think we need to have a serious conversation about where we're going to live once the baby's born…

It's still weird to write that. I wonder how long it will be before it just seems normal.

It's not just the baby at the end of it that changes everything, but pregnancy is quite literally going to mean a major lifestyle adjustment. After my mini-breakdown last night, it suddenly dawned on me that I'd barely eaten a thing all day (not a wise move considering I'd been hospitalised after passing out), but I knew that there were thousands of myths about what pregnant women can and can't eat but had absolutely no clue which of those were true. As it turns out, I can eat whatever I wants long as it isn't raw, unwashed, or undercooked.

Seafood and anything unpasteurised is questionable.

As for alcohol and caffeine, forget it.

He doesn't think I know, but Matthew has already downloaded at least three pregnancy books to his iPad.

Of course, he's asking all of the important questions.

"Will the baby have a title?" he asked - it was easy enough to talk properly on the train from London, as we were the only people in our first class carriage save for an older gentleman who was fast asleep at the other end.

I shook my head. "No. I don't think so anyway… I'm certain that a boy won't be a Viscount until you're an Earl, but I'm not entirely sure if a girl would be a Lady right away.

I just looked this up on Debretts and neither a boy or a girl would be titled until Matthew inherits the Earldom from my father (and I hope that this isn't for a very, very long time).

Since the baby is going to arrive before our wedding day, I'm guessing that this will have to take priority on the list of things that we need to plan for.

And there are **a lot** of things that need planning:

Make an appointment with Dr Clarkson do discuss pregnancy related… stuff. Do I need to see a midwife? How do I get scans? Those sorts of things.

Tell Edith that she's going to be an aunt. Also, try and arrange lunch with Papa some time this week - I want to tell him in person. I also need to speak to him about the whole Mama situation.

Start looking at houses. I'm resigning myself to the fact that my one-bedroom flat isn't big enough for a family. I might be engaged and pregnant, but getting a mortgage actually feels like a proper grown up thing to do.

Tell Evelyn. He is technically my boss - I have no idea how long it'll be before I have to go on maternity leave and so I suppose it's only fair that I give him plenty of notice.

I know that I've missed telling Isobel off my list, but I've realised that I'm digressing massively.

To cut a long story very short, this isn't the first time she's walked in on us in a compromising position (yes, that did happen once, and it was awkward as hell so we don't talk about it).

Matthew and I were in his bedroom unpacking when I remembered the test we'd bought at the station. He asked if he wanted him to come into the bathroom with me whilst I did it, though there are still some lines in our relationship I refuse to cross even - sitting in the bathroom with me whilst I pee on a stick is one of them.

"I don't know why I'm nervous," he said as we waited. "We already know what it's going to say."

"I know, but it just makes it official."

"As if the scan hadn't done that already?"

I smiled back at him before staring back at the little display, waiting for that one little word that had changed both our lives forever to make an appearance. "The bloods, the scan, and now this… the holy trinity of pregnancy."

"We'll tell mother tonight," he said. "But I don't think anyone other than close family should know for a few weeks more yet, I think most people wait until around twelve weeks… so I hear, anyway."

"I know about the pregnancy books," I replied. "And I think it's sweet that you're reading into this."

"Well, I figured you're going to be a bit preoccupied with actually **being** pregnant so at least if I understand it then I'll gladly let you scream and shout at me and tell me that it's all my fault."

He's doing it again - being completely and utterly perfect when I don't deserve it.

By now, the two minutes had passed and, as predicted, the word 'pregnant' popped up on the display.

"Satisfied?"

"I am, rather," I replied. "I love you. I know I don't say it a lot, but I do… and I really am happy about this, despite my overreaction yesterday."

He didn't say anything, I don't think he needed to say anything, but instead just kissed me…

And that's when his mother walked in. She knocked, but we didn't hear.

As I said, she's caught us doing **much** worse than kissing before, but there was just something about the fact that she'd walked in on us doing a pregnancy test that was even more shocking.

We'd planned to sit her down and break the news gently, but it was really rather difficult to hide what was going on.

"Is there something you'd both like to tell me?"

Matthew and I looked at each other, not really sure what to say or who should say it. In the end, he got to his feet and took the pile of clean towels that Isobel had been bringing to us and set them aside. "There is, actually," he said. "Mary's pregnant."

I hadn't expected her to cry.

She was absolutely overjoyed, even more so when we told her that we were expecting the baby to be born some time around Christmas.

Sitting down and talking about pregnancy with Isobel was so much different to when I'd discussed it with Mama and Matthew. She was a nurse for a very long time (and still is I suppose - she works part time at the local surgery, really just assisting when they're particularly busy, and volunteers by helping families affected by things like dementia and cancer. It's so easy to see where Matthew gets his generosity from but I digress). I told her that I hadn't had any inclination whatsoever that I might have been pregnant and, as such, I was beginning to feel a little bit concerned over all of the crap that I'd been putting into my body in the last few months.

I lost count of how many bottles of champagne and prosecco we drank in Italy.

"Mary, dear, there's no need to worry," Isobel said after I'd announced that I was convinced my baby was going to be born with two heads and webbed feet (much to Matthew's amusement). "In all my years, I've never known a baby to be harmed by a mother drinking in the early stages of pregnancy. I'll be honest and say that I've seen sometimes catastrophic consequences of continuous alcohol and drug use, but I know that you're wiser than that."

I sighed. "I know, but you do hear some horror stories."

"I'm from a generation where mothers drank alcohol and smoked like chimneys whilst pregnant and most of us turned out fine. I'm not condoning it, but everything in moderation and all that."

I've confessed all of my worries and fears this evening and, somehow, I feel so much better for it. Yes this is scary, but it's also incredibly exciting - I've learnt that this is the most natural thing in the world and that I should embrace and enjoy it.

Right now, I'd say that life is pretty good.

Well, if you ignore my parents' impending divorce.

But I don't want to think about that right now. Right now, I just want to be thankful for what I have, and what I have is the most perfect fiancé, a wonderfully understanding and knowledgable future mother-in-law, and a baby on the way.

And who could ask for more than that?

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **4:05pm. 25th May 2015  
** **Marple, Greater Manchester**

Matthew and I decided to take a walk today - despite living in central London, it's not really something that we get to do a lot and I quite enjoy the simple pleasure of just wandering aimlessly, talking about everything and everything and just taking in the world for what it is.

We visited his father's grave which is something we always do when we come up here. It's always a sombre interlude to what is normally an otherwise happy day, but I know that it's something Matthew always feels as though he has to do. When I say that I never met Reggie, what I mean is that I never met him as Matthew's girlfriend - he may have remembered me as the precocious, uppity minx of a girl (as our old housekeeper used to refer to me) who often got his little boy into a great deal of mischief…

Though he never met me as **Mary**.

According to Isobel, the apple didn't fall very from the tree at all when it comes to Matthew and Reginald - I've seen photographs and they do look incredibly alike, but Matthew has his father's temperament, his ability to see the good in everybody, and a keen sense of just wanting to help where he can. It still perplexes me why Matthew didn't follow in the family tradition and go into medicine because I think he'd make a really rather wonderful doctor but, every time I ask, he just shrugs his shoulders and says that he didn't really feel like it.

Which I suppose is fair enough.

God I hope our baby gets those Crawley genes and not my Crawley genes. I don't think I could cope with a miniature version of me, especially not when it becomes a teenager.

 **Note to Self:** Find another way to refer to this baby other than 'it'. I don't like it - though I'm adamant we're not going to find out the sex!

Not long after we left the cemetery, the heavens opened and so it seemed logical to take shelter in the local pub. Isobel has a meeting with her gentleman friend this afternoon, but she's on her way to meet us here and we'll have an early dinner.

"I've been thinking," I said. "Would it be such a bad idea if we got everything sorted for the wedding as quickly as possible? I don't want to change the date, but the last thing I want to be doing when I'm heavily pregnant is stressing out over caterers and colour themes."

"Then let's make a plan," Matthew replied. "We haven't even spoken about what we want. What if my idea of the perfect wedding is completely different to yours."

I flipped to a blank page in my diary and pulled a pen out of my bag - he laughed but, of the two of us, I'm never the one without a pen when someone needs one.

So, here it is, our wedding plan (thank you Google for giving me the template):

 **THE WEDDING OF LADY MARY JOSEPHINE CRAWLEY**

 **and**

 **MR MATTHEW REGINALD CRAWLEY ESQ.**

 **Guest List**

Small. Family and close friends only. I know that I'm the Prime Minister's daughter and there will probably be some important people that we have to invite, but I really don't want it to be more than 100.

 **Wedding Party**

On my side, this has already been sorted. Sybil is my maid of honour, Edith and Anna are my other two bridesmaids. Matthew is struggling to decide who to pick as his best man though it's likely to be one of our mutual friends from Oxford.

 **Date**

Again, this has already been sorted. 27th March 2016. This will (hopefully) give me plenty of time to lose some of my baby weight - Matthew says I shouldn't care about this but I do. I really do.

 **Venue**

Yet another thing that we've already decided on. That being said, we need to get in touch with the National Trust and ask them to close the Abbey to the public for a week or two around the time of the wedding.

 **Dress**

This is something we haven't discussed and with good reason - under no circumstances whatsoever is Matthew to have any indication of what I'm wearing. I want it to be a complete surprise. I've always adored Jenny Packham's gowns, but I have no idea of what's going to happen to my body in the next few months so I fear that my dress may be a last minute job.

Matthew has agreed to wear a morning suit - we both agree that it looks smart. He's contemplating changing into just a normal suit for the evening reception (I've thrown navy blue out there. He didn't complain).

 **Theme**

I've proposed my modern vintage idea. Matthew likes it. I think our colour scheme will be quite neutral - maybe a lot of soft pinks and cream shades. I found some pictures on the internet and I think it would complement the grandeur and antiquity of Downton perfectly.

 **Food**

Matthew hates heavy, seemingly never ending, sit down meals at weddings. I quite like it - it feels traditional. We'll work on this one.

 **First Dance**

This one almost caused an argument. In the end we've decided that, as my dress will be a surprise for Matthew, he will surprise me by picking the song for our first dance and I'll have absolutely no idea what it's going to be until our wedding night.

As long as it's not something cheesy or cliched, that's fine.

 **Honeymoon**

The Caribbean is my favourite place in the whole wide world and Matthew has never been. I **was** thinking that we could go to either St Lucia, Barbados, or Antigua (maybe the Turks and Caicos Islands, I've never been but they're up and coming apparently), but it's a nine hour flight and I'm not sure that's appropriate for a three month old baby.

But then Matthew reminded me that this will be our honeymoon and he's not really sure if you're supposed to take your baby with you.

Again, I think I'm going to need to go back to the drawing board on that one.

Isobel's arrived, and I think she may have brought her gentleman friend with her…

Isn't this exciting.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **4:35pm. 25th May 2015**

 **Ladies Toilets, Still in the Pub**

Lord Merton.

Richard Grey.

Dickie Grey is Isobel's gentleman friend?

I should probably point out that Dickie Grey is my godfather…

His son is Sybil's ex-boyfriend.

How is this even possible?

WHY CAN'T THIS FAMILY JUST BE NORMAL FOR ONCE?!


	12. 27th May 2015

_**I'm sorry for the lack of update in recent weeks - everything has been crazy busy and I've not had very much time or energy to write. My apologies if this chapter isn't my best, but it's really just a filler between major plot points and I felt as though an update was long overdue. I also had to go back and amend some of the chapters because my dates were all wrong (oops!). Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x**_

 _ **-xxx-**_

 **4:25pm. 27th May 2015  
** **My Office, Branksome Chambers**

Well this just got awkward.

Not in a bad way, I don't think. I don't know… it depends on how you look at it really.

I suppose a part of me has always known or at least suspected it, but to hear it out loud has still come as quite a shock.

I honestly thought we were done with unforeseen revelations but, apparently, I was wrong.

It all started with a touting party, one which I had **completely** forgotten that Evelyn had arranged - basically, a touting party is where he invites the great and the good of criminal practice, piles them with alcohol, and we all do lots of schmoozing to bring in work. Matthew's firm were there and I caught a glimpse of him standing in the corner talking with our head of chambers (the head of chambers is someone entirely different from the senior clerk, but I don't want to get into the specifics of all that right now). He excuses himself and greets me with a kiss to the cheek.

"I didn't expect to see you here," I smiled.

"Well someone has to babysit the trainees," he smirks, pointing to an attractive young man across the room, quite obviously chatting up one of our junior clerks.

"Between your trainee and my pupil, I doubt anyone is safe," I laughed, for Tom had clearly used my instruction to go and mingle as an excuse to flirt outrageously with a solicitor we'd first met yesterday at the Magistrates Court in Camden. "Maybe there will be a few **literal** baby barristers in a year or so."

Matthew leaned in a little closer to ensure that we weren't overheard. "Speaking of which," he replied. "Have you said anything to anyone yet?"

"No," I said. "I haven't been able to find him all day. I will though… he needs to know, though I think it's a little strange telling him before my father."

"Evelyn's practically family," he replied. "You've known him since you were what? Seven or eight?"

"More like three or four. He's like a brother to me…"

"I know, which is why I asked him to be my best man."

I have to admit, I was (pleasantly) surprised by this though I supposed it did make sense - Matthew too has known Evelyn for a long time and the pair have always been close.

"What did he say?"

"He politely declined."

"Oh… did he say why?"

"No, not really. Back to the drawing board I suppose."

"Why are you finding this so difficult?" I asked. "I always thought it would be easy to find a best man."

Matthew shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I suppose I'd never really given it much thought. I was too busy fretting over whether or not you'd actually say yes."

We stood in comfortable silence for a moment or two, casually observing the goings on around us. I watched as Evelyn excused himself from the party before heading back into the clerk's room and, knowing that I probably wouldn't get another chance to speak to him, I quickly followed.

"Leaving your own party without so much as a glass slipper?" I teased.

He looked up at me from the papers he was reading and chuckled. "I've been to about a thousand of these things now," he replied. "But I just came to look for something. I'm on the verge of a potentially very lucrative deal that could bring in an awful lot of work over the next few months, and it's all because of you."

"Me?"

"You're the star player… the one they all want to do business with. They're taking bets that you'll have silk within a year."

My face fell. I had to tell him - it wasn't fair that he was getting his hopes up like this and I wouldn't even be around to fulfil his end of the bargain.

"I'm pregnant."

He reacted exactly how I anticipated he would - with a bright smile and a ridiculously tight hug. "I'm so happy for you," he said. "Though I suppose a March wedding is off the table now?"

I rolled my eyes. "Absolutely not," I replied. "Everyone keeps saying this… Matthew and I aren't moving the wedding. Speaking of which, I heard he asked you to be his best man."

Evelyn ran his hand through his already messy hair and looked away from me rather sheepishly. "I said no."

"I know. But why?"

"Because… I love you. I always have done, and I didn't think it right that I should stand beside your fiancé on the most special day of your lives."

This is what shocked me - we had something of a thing when were about fifteen or sixteen. It was a brief summer romance where we decided to test the waters of our friendship and see if we could become something more.

It didn't work out.

Of course I do love him, but I've never been **in** love with him.

And, in my book, there's a very big difference.

"Oh Evelyn," I sighed. I didn't know what else to say - what else **could** I say?

"This… this doesn't change anything between us, does it?"

"Of course not. I think, deep down, I've always known… you're my oldest, dearest friend. I wouldn't let anything change that for the world, professionally or personally, for what it's worth. On one condition, that is."

"Which is?"

"You promise me you'll still come to my wedding?"

He smiled back and me and took both of my hands in his. "I promise. I want nothing more than to see you happy."

"I am happy, very much so."

"Good, then I'm happy too."

The thing about Evelyn is that he's so honest and genuine that one could almost consider it a fault as much as a virtue. I could see from the look on his face that he truly meant that he was happy for me and I think that, really, he just needed to get everything out in the open at long last…

And that's absolutely fine with me.

No, really, it is. The big question now I suppose is whether or not I tell Matthew.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **6:30pm. 27th May 2015  
** **Chelsea, London**

I told Matthew.

He found it funny.

I told him off - it's not nice.

Oh my God. What is wrong with me? Pregnancy hormones have suddenly turned me into a sensitive and caring human being.

I'm joking, obviously. I've always been nice, but I have a reputation to uphold.

Anyway, I digress. Matthew is completely fine with the fact that my childhood best friend is still in love with me, but then this is Matthew so I suppose it was to be expected.

"What did he say about the baby?"

"He was happy," I replied. "Though I think he's a little gutted to be losing his star player."

Matthew chuckled. "You're awfully full of yourself sometimes."

"His words, not mine," I replied. "He thinks he's going to have a lot of work coming in from us towards the end of the year. I'd like to keep working for as long as possible though, if that's alright with you."

"Why wouldn't it be?" he asked. "It's your decision. Though just promise me you won't be too stubborn to leave earlier if it's getting too much. Stress isn't good for either of you."

"I though you would have known me well enough by now to know that stubborn is practically my middle name."

"Damn. We'll have to get the wedding invites amended."

I swatted his arm playfully. "And, whilst we're on the subject of stress," I added. "Can you **please** do something about your stuff. I kicked a box before and I wouldn't be surprised if I fractured a toe!"

He lifted my wounded foot to his lips and pressed a kiss to my toes (I didn't have the heart to tell him it was the wrong one) - ordinarily, this would be pretty disgusting but Matthew and I have been together for so long now that he really doesn't care about the fact that I haven't shaved my legs in days or that I can't remember the last time I had a pedicure.

"My poor darling," he said. "How ever am I going to make it up to you?"

"I'll think of a way, don't you worry," I replied, but the answer came to me mere seconds later. "Actually, you can come to lunch with Papa and I on Friday."

"I can't tell your father that I knocked you up out of wedlock over lunch!"

" **You** knocked **me** up… therefore, I think you should tell him."

"What a shame. I have a hearing in Essex on Friday morning and I don't know if I'll be back in time."

"Fine then," I replied haughtily. "You can tell Granny."

"On second thoughts, I think I'll be back in plenty of time."

It's been a decade and Matthew still thinks that Granny is going to eat him alive…

Bless.

 **Note to Self:** Under no uncertain circumstances is **anyone** to tell Granny that I'm pregnant.

I mean it, or I'l hunt the old bat down and present her with a gagging order myself.

And there was me worried that hormones were turning me nice.


	13. 29th May 2015

_**Hopefully I'm back on track with my weekly updates now - then again, I only have two more chapters left so I may even manage to get them done before the start of series six next Sunday (I'm still in denial about it being the end). I'm so close to hitting the 100 reviews mark, which would be absolutely amazing! Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x**_

 _ **-xxx-**_

 **10:00am. 29th May 2015  
** **My Office, Branksome Chambers**

We're getting an unexpected houseguest.

Sybil has asked if she can come and stay for a few days - I suppose there was only really so much time she could spend in Cardiff after finishing her exams but the poor girl has been avoiding coming home ever since Mama and Papa separated.

To be quite honest, I don't blame her.

"I can't go back, not yet," she said when we spoke on the phone last night. "I don't think I'll be able to handle the tension."

The whole situation is really rather complicated at the moment -for the sake of keeping up appearances, Mama is still at Number 10 because God only knows how much of a field day the press would have otherwise.

"Darling, you're always welcome here and you know it."

"I know, but I didn't know if it would be different now that Matthew's moved in."

"Don't be silly," I replied. "Matthew adores you and he hasn't seen you properly in ages. It'll be fine."

Sybil seemed satisfied with my response and asked if we can use the weekend to start planning the wedding (since she too agrees that we should get as much sorted as possible before the baby arrives). She's even sent me a link to her Spotify playlist of wedding planning/potential first dance songs. I'm not even joking:

 **1\. Dear Future Husband - Meghan Trainor** (This one is growing on me the more I listen to it)

 **2\. This Will Be (An Everlasting Love) - Natalie Cole** (I really like this for a first dance)

 **3\. Crazy In Love - Beyonce** (It's not a party without a bit of Beyonce. Fact)

 **4\. That's Amore - Dean Martin** (Very apt given how we got engaged)

 **5\. Love Me Like You Do - Ellie Goulding** (Good song, but I would think it's going to become as cliched as that other one she sang to have your first dance to)

 **6\. Real Love - Clean Bandit** (I just like to dance to this song anyway. It's also good to sing in the shower)

 **7\. Is This Love? (Montmartre Remix) - Bob Marley** (I still have my sights set on a Caribbean honeymoon)

 **8.** **All of Me - John Legend** (See number 5)

 **9\. My Girl - The Temptations** (A classic, but it just makes me think of the film and I cry every time when the little boy dies).

 **10\. Marry You - Bruno Mars** (I saw a video of someone walking down the aisle to this. Not my style - I'm at least keeping that part traditional)

 **11\. Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen** (This song is Matthew all over. I love it)

 **12\. You're the First, the Last, My Everything - Barry White** (Also a classic)

 **13\. Ho Hey - The Lumineers** (One of my favourite songs of the last couple of years. It's different. I think it may be on the shortlist)

So Sybil evidently has far too much time on her hands now that she doesn't have any revision or studying to do but, bless her, she's really getting into this wedding. Matthew too has said that she was incredibly enthusiastic about helping him to plan the perfect proposal and I can't help but wonder if her talents are going to waste if she's to become a doctor.

I wonder what sort of aunt Sybil will make?

Actually, that's something of a loaded question I think. Edith will probably be the sensible one and Sybil will spoil her niece or nephew rotten.

It's still so hard to comprehend that there's another person growing inside of me (ugh, that sounds so much better in my head) and that in six months or so they'll actually be **here** and real and…

I think it's a boy. Matthew is already convinced it's a girl though neither of us mind either way.

I'm telling Papa today - Matthew's hearing in Essex was struck out and re-listed so he'll definitely be able to come with me now. I hope Papa's happy, but a part of me worries that he'll want to use it as a PR stunt to conceal the issues in his own marriage, like Granny did with our engagement. I'm putting my foot down though and making sure that I do everything in my power to stop the news getting out before we're ready.

So far, the plan is to 'go public' when I'm about twenty weeks gone - that is unless I'm not able to hide it.

I'm thinking about telling Tom though because I suspect he may be on to me. He keeps giving me a strange look and being more attentive than usual.

Speaking of Tom, he's impressed me again this morning.

I have to admit that I've been struggling with this big murder trial - poison is such a tricky one. I know enough about knife and gunshot wounds to be able to figure out how and why an attack was possible, but this is something else…

Apparently not for your history buff of a pupil though.

"Madeline Smith," he said as he burst through the door.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Madeline Smith," he repeated. "She was a nineteenth century Glaswegian socialite who was the centre of a sensational murder trial in Scotland after she was accused of killing her lover."

"I don't understand," I frowned.

Tom moved his chair across the room and sat down next to me with a copy of the Bates file. "She poisoned him after he blackmailed her when she tried to put an end to their affair when she got engaged. It's thought that she laced him with arsenic each time he visited her but, that being said, there's one theory that the killed himself to frame her for murder…"

"Are you suggesting that our victim poisoned herself to get revenge on her husband?"

Tom shrugged. "It's a possibility," he replied. "I'm still working on the theory but I think we could be on to something. Look through her mental health records and the number of suicide attempts and threats over the last three to five years alone… I know it sounds crazy, but the prosecution have to prove guilt beyond all reasonable doubt. If we can instil even the slightest bit of doubt into the minds of the jury then we might be on to something."

I could have kissed him.

And I did just that.

"That is… brilliant," I smiled. "But how on earth do you know all of this?"

"Don't laugh, but I have something of a macabre fascination with historical murderers."

That's… different.

As he puts his papers back in order, I noticed a business card on the desk. "Rachel MacAndrews, solicitor," I read aloud. "Is that the one from the touting party the other day."

I swear he blushed. "She's… **nice** , and we're going to go out for a drink after work, but I don't really feel that spark I thought I would. I still maintain I'll know the perfect woman for me the second I meet her though."

"So you don't have a girlfriend then?"

"I did, though we split up a couple of months ago."

"How come?"

"She's a teacher and she got offered a job teaching English in Hong Kong. It's something she's wanted to do for a long time now and who was I to stand in her way? She understood my need to stay here if I'm to get qualified too so it was a mutual decision in the end."

"I'm sorry."

Tom shook his head. "Don't be," he replied. "Some things just aren't meant to be. Unlike you though, what with you're wedding next year and a baby on the way."

I almost spat out my tea. "I'm sorry, what now?"

"Oh please, how much longer were you hoping to get away with it?"

"Who told you?"

"Nobody. I figured it out," he replied. "Look, my little sister got pregnant when she was fifteen. Mam went absolutely mental, but I could tell that she was hiding something all along. Then, when my brother's wife was expecting, the signs were easier to spot. I'm observant, surely you've realised that by now?"

"You must promise not to tell **anyone** ," I said quietly.

"I promise," Tom replied. "I bet you're really excited."

I nodded. "I am, rather," I said. "I only found out last weekend but, now that it's all sinking in, I'm getting used to the idea."

Tom smiled. "It's grand, being an uncle. I love the kids but I get to give them back at the end of the day," he laughed, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "These are my nieces, Aoife and Kitty."

"They're adorable," I said - I'm getting broodier, that much is true, and I've started to realise that children can be cute as well as being an absolute pain when they start screaming in public (mine will never do that. Mine is an aristocrat and will therefore be brought into this world equipped with a perfect understanding of manners and social etiquette). "This one looks just like you."

"Kitty? Her Dad, Eamon, and I look so alike so I'm not surprised. Aoife's all Orlaith though. Thank God, the father was a few years older and conveniently disappeared as soon as she told him."

"How awful," I said. "I couldn't imagine raising a child alone. I'm so lucky to be in a stable relationship where we both have good jobs and a roof over our heads."

Tom nodded in understanding. "Orlaith wasn't alone though," he replied. "She had us."

"You're from quite a big family then?"

"Aye. Three older brothers, Niall, Kieron, and Eamon, and then Orlaith. Like I said, Mam was so angry when she found out but she soon got over it. Family is more important than anything in this world, no matter how much they might fuck up."

Again, Tom was absolutely right.

Family **is** the most important thing and I can't let my child, the first grandchild, to be brought into a broken one. I have to make Papa see that he's out of his mind to be throwing away more than thirty years of marriage on some stupid hearsay. He and Mama have been through so much that surely by now he can see when she's telling the truth…

I don't believe for a single second that she had an affair, neither to Sybil and Edith.

I fear that this is going to be harder than any trial I've ever done.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **6:15pm. 29th May 2015**

 **Paddington Station**

I'm waiting for Sybil's train to arrive - I thought it would be nice to come and meet her and I suspect she'll also need help with her bags so Matthew's lurking around somewhere too (I think he went to Sainsbury's - we're out of milk apparently though I don't know how because I only bought some the other day).

Lunch was… well, put it this way, it could have been worse.

We went to the Shangri La at the Shard - it's one of my new favourite places in London. I love the views out over the city, particularly when the skies are clear and you can see for miles. Naturally, the press were there as we arrived and I politely smiled and said hello as one should in these sorts of situations.

"Lady Mary, have you set a date for the wedding?" one journalist shouted at me as another took our picture.

"We have, as a matter of fact," I replied. "Though you'll just have to wait patiently like everybody else."

"Matthew, why did you choose now to propose? Has she got one in the oven?"

"Well… ummm… I suppose…"

Matthew still isn't very good at dealing with the paparazzi, particularly not the crass manner in which they tend to speak to us either.

"Gentlemen, please," I cut in, flashing them my most dazzling smile. "Mr Crawley and I both have very busy afternoons ahead of us, and I know that you know that the Prime Minister hates to be left waiting."

Matthew took hold of my hand as we entered the building and I couldn't help but notice a smirk on his face. "I do love it when you talk like that," he said. "All confident and authoritarian… it's rather sexy."

"I speak like that in court every day."

"Precisely," he replied. "Which is why I have numerous fantasies about you wearing your wig, gown, and not much else."

"Matthew! You're terrible," I teased. "And completely inappropriate… though maybe when Sybil's gone home."

"Then you'd better hope you can get your parents back together sooner rather than later."

I playfully grabbed his backside as we stepped into the lift - I"m completely blaming this on hormones because there's absolutely no way that I would have indulged in this level of impropriety in public under any other circumstances.

"Now who's behaving inappropriately?"

"Two can play at that game, darling."

And then he kissed me… and I mean **really** kissed me. I had to make a quick dash to the ladies to fix my hair and my lipstick but, if either of us looked dishevelled, Papa didn't comment.

He was, however, rather surprised to see Matthew.

"I had a few hours free," he said. "Mary asked if I'd like to come and I thought it would be nice."

I suddenly felt incredibly nervous and I could sense that Matthew was too. Everybody else in the family had found out by accident (Mama and Sybil where there with me at the hospital, Isobel caught us in the middle of a pregnancy test, and Sybil accidentally let slip to Edith via text). Telling Evelyn and Tom had been easy, but it's another thing entirely to tell your father…

I saw that video on the internet of the girl who gives her father the baby booties as a way of telling him that she's pregnant and then he cries but, let's be honest, that really isn't my style so I suppose I'm just going to have to come out and say it…

It was just a matter of waiting for the opportune moment.

It really didn't help that there was a **massive** elephant in the room in the shape of my parents' impending divorce.

"So, how are the wedding plans coming along?"

"Fine," Matthew replied. "Ideally, we'd like to get everything sorted as soon as possible. It's going to be a busy year for us both."

Papa looked at us over the top of his menu. "Oh really? How so?"

Rather inconveniently, the waitress chose that exact moment to bring us our food.

"Well, go on," Matthew said once she'd gone. "You're going to have to tell him at some point."

I took a deep breath and reached for a glass of water. "I'm pregnant."

Being a politician, Papa is very good at keeping himself composed in public but even I didn't expect him to react the way that he did.

"Does your mother know?"

Really, that was all he had to say.

I nodded. "She was there when I found out. I fainted in Cardiff and they took me to hospital."

"You were in **hospital**?"

"Yes, but it's fine. There was nothing to worry about. Everything's… good."

Matthew squeezed my hand under the table. "You'll understand though that we want to keep this to ourselves for the time being," he said. "But you are happy, aren't you?"

Papa smiled back at us both. "Of course I am," he said. "I'm absolutely delighted. Though I'm surprised your mother didn't say anything… but I suppose she is rather good at keeping secrets."

"Oh for God's sake!"

I couldn't help myself. The words were out of my mouth before I could even stop to think about them. I saw Matthew visibly tense and his eyes widen like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I beg your pardon," Papa said.

"This is ridiculous," I hissed quietly so as not to draw too much attention to us. "You can't throw away thirty years of marriage on some stupid gossip! You know, earlier today, somebody reminded me that family is more important than anything. We all make mistakes, we all screw up, but I think that your wounded ego is stopping you from actually sitting down with Mama and **talking** about this… I don't believe for a single second that she's been unfaithful. I know that you've been incredibly busy with the campaign in recent months, but if you paid even the slightest bit of attention to Mama for once instead of just yourself, I think you'd realise that she has a life beyond you, just as Matthew and I have lives beyond each other. You're going to be grandparents, and the last thing I want is for our baby to be brought into a broken family… now, if you'll excuse me, I'm not really very hungry anymore."

Nobody followed me. I didn't expect them to… but the last thing I heard was Matthew declaring that he wished he hadn't declined the offer of a drink.

Two hours later, I got a text from Papa.

 ** _My dear girl, I'm sorry. I've been an idiot - a stupid old man set in his ways. I'm absolutely delighted for you and Matthew, of course I am. And of course I'll speak to your Mama._**

It's not perfect, but it's a start.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **7:30pm. 29th May 2015**

 **Chelsea, London**

They know. The press know.

We were just leaving the station, Sybil and I walking a few paces behind Matthew who had gone ahead slightly with a suitcase to try and flag down a cab. I have absolutely no idea where they came from but, the next thing we knew, a two men began chasing us with cameras.

"Mary! Sybil! How do you feel about your parents getting divorced?"

"How's your future step-father?!"

"Lady Mary, will you invite Simon to the wedding?"

"Sybil, I hear you've shagged half of Cardiff University's rugby team since splitting up with Larry. You really are your mother's daughter."

That was the final straw - if Matthew hadn't been there, I probably would socked him one myself.

Because that's exactly what happened.

Out of nowhere, Matthew rugby tackled the photographer to the ground - the other ran off, though I didn't see where he went, because I was too focused on what was happening in front of me to notice. Matthew was holding his arm at a strange angle, a grimace of pain on his face as the photographer scrambled to his feet.

"What's your fucking problem, mate?"

"My problem is you. I'm giving you ten seconds to get out of here."

"Or what?"

Matthew drew himself up to his full height and gave the photographer a stern look 'Well… umm… I don't know. But I could probably find out who you're employed by and make sure you never work again."

And that was when Matthew got punched in the face.

What. An. Idiot.

I'm so angry with him… or at least I was for a while. I wish he'd just walked away, but then Matthew sometimes has this overwhelming need to play the hero. I understand that what was set hit a nerve, but I haven't known Matthew to get into a fight since we were at University.

"Oh God, you're mad at me," he said as he lay on the sofa with Sybil tending to his wounds. "I'm sorry, I overreacted."

"Keep still," Sybil told him. She, on the other hand, was absolutely fine and had even gone so far as to proclaim him her hero.

"I'm not mad at you," I said, which was a lie. "I'm mad at this whole damn situation… I have no idea how they found out, but I'm just preparing myself for the worst. But yes, you did overreact, and you should be prepared to face the consequences."

"I'll ummm… I'll give you two a minute," Sybil said, sensing some of the tension. "I'll have another look at your wrist in the morning. It might be worth getting an x-ray if the swelling hasn't gone down. Oh and, by the way, I want you both to know that I haven't shagged half the rugby team… maybe one or two of them, but that's a lot less than half."

We both had to laugh at that, because thank God for Sybil.

"Your family is bloody nuts," said Matthew after Sybil had gone to have a bath.

"Well they're your family too," I replied, and sat down next to him on the sofa. "These past few weeks have been an utter disaster, haven't they?"

"I wouldn't say they were a **complete** disaster," he said, taking hold of my left hand and running his thumb over my engagement ring. "There have been a few good things… a few unexpected surprises, but I wouldn't say they were all bad."

I smiled and leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I suppose you're right, though I am a little bit mad at you for fighting."

Matthew cringed. "I know, I'm mad at myself. I just saw red and felt this… **instinct**. I couldn't just stand there and do nothing."

"You're lucky he doesn't want to press charges. But it's already all over Twitter so I suggest you better prepare yourself for a rollocking."

"From who?"

"Your mother."

"Bollocks. I hadn't thought about that."

Yes, that's right ladies and gentlemen - Matthew Crawley will get into a fist fight to defend my family's honour, but he's still scared of his mother.

Just as it should be.


	14. 12th and 13th June 2015

**_So, here it is, the last 'proper' chapter of sorts. There is another one after this though it's more of an epilogue than anything - I'm hoping that I'll have that ready by 9pm tomorrow evening and the start of the new series here in the UK. Good news though, I've decided that there WILL be a sequel. I can't tell you when it will happen, though I know the working title is currently 'A New Royal Family' and it will focus on the week or two leading up to the wedding. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

 _ **-xxx-**_

 **11:45pm. 12th June 2015  
** **Downton, Yorkshire**

I know, I know, I haven't made any entries for two whole weeks.

But there is a very good reason for that.

It was my big murder trial this week and it's literally taken every ounce of energy I possess just to get through it. This has probably been one of the most physically and emotionally draining weeks of my entire career.

But it was so worth it because we won.

I have to admit that, the deeper I delved, the more I began to see sense in Tom's theory and I felt confident enough to run with it in court. People thought we were mad, but I suppose that the jury bought it too because they returned a majority verdict of not guilty. We went down an absolute storm, and the press have already been calling it one of the most sensational murder trials to grace the Old Bailey in years…

The judge even offered me a reference for my silk application, which is absolutely unbelievable.

But, of course, I can't take all of the credit. Nothing's official yet, but Tom has pretty much been guaranteed tenancy at the end of his pupillage which I'm absolutely over the moon about.

Things have worked out quite nicely for us I'd say.

As a thank you, I've invited him up here for our summer garden party - I think we both deserve a weekend off! Evelyn's coming too and also some of the solicitors and paralegals from Matthew's firm. The garden party is an old tradition that goes right the way back to I think even before the reign of Queen Victoria but, nowadays, it's as much a charity event as a social soiree.

It's also the first time Edith, Sybil, and I have been in the same room since my birthday, and even then I wasn't around long enough to properly catch up with the two of them.

"I can't believe Matthew punch a journalist in the face," Edith said as we sat in the kitchen after everyone had gone to bed - I'd made hot chocolate and Sybil had even managed to find some marshmallows at the back of a cupboard. This is exactly how we used to spend our summer evenings hen we were girls, staying up late and talking about life, the universe, and everything in it.

"It was the other way around," replied Sybil. "Though he did spectacularly rugby tackle him to the ground first."

Luckily, Matthew's little scuffle with the photographer hadn't really caused too much of a stir, but Isobel certainly did have a few words with her son over the black eye that he'd been sporting up until fairly recently.

Unluckily, the speculation began about Mama and Papa's possible separation - the two seem to be on better footing at the moment, but I don't think any of us are really holding our breaths right now. This weekend, the three of us have decided that we're just going to focus on the good things in our lives and, speaking of which, Sybil had a very important announcement to make.

"I'm not joining the army."

"Oh thank God for that," Edith replied. "What changed your mind?"

Sybil shrugged her shoulders "My heart wasn't in it," she said. "And I saw the fitness requirements and just thought fuck that."

We all burst out laughing then - I know I've probably said this before, but my life would be ab awful lot duller if it weren't for my sister.

"Well, I also have news," Edith said when we'd all calmed down a little. "There's a production company interested in turning my books into a television series. They'd like me to have full creative input too."

Sybil beamed back at her. "Edith! That's amazing… I love those books, and I'm not just saying that as your sister."

I too couldn't help but smile. I have to admit, I've started reading them recently and I think they're really rather good. It's a series of six (though only three have been published up to now) about a family of aristocrats and their staff in the early twentieth century - she's really done her research, and a lot of the characters and plots are based on our actual family history which is really interesting. Just being able to admit that, and to even just be able to write down the fact that I'm actually quite proud of her is really quite something…

I think I may finally have become a proper grown up.

But don't tell Edith that, I'll never live it down otherwise.

"And as for you," she said. "When were you planning on telling me about the baby?"

"I was getting round to it, I promise," I replied. "But a few other things got in the way."

Edith raised her eyebrows at me over the top of her mug. "Given what those other things were, I think I'll let you off on this occasion."

And, with that, hell froze over and pigs started flying.

"Who are you and what have you done with Edith?" Sybil asked.

Edith laughed. "I think that moving away has done me the world of good. Being so far from home makes me realise just what I have waiting for me here… and I'd like to think that we're both far too old for childish spats now, wouldn't you?"

I smiled to myself as I thought about what Edith had said. These last few weeks, what with all the drama and my impending motherhood, have made me appreciate the importance of family that little bit more.

"Yes, I daresay we are."

For once, I'm not going to argue with Edith…

And if that isn't grown up then I don't know what is.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **2:20pm. 13th June 2015**

 **Downton, Yorkshire**

Parties are exhausting.

Don't get me wrong, I do love a good party but not when I'm seemingly the centre of attention - everyone keeps bombarding me with questions about the wedding, the proposal, my big trial, and quite literally everything and everything they can think of. Ordinarily, I wouldn't normally have a problem but I've been feeling so out of sorts lately that quite literally every little thing has been irritating me…

 **Especially** the morning sickness.

I was beginning to count myself lucky - I remember the look of surprise on both Sybil and Doctor Huw's faces when I said I'd had absolutely no pregnancy related symptoms whatsoever (which turned out to be untrue but you know what I mean). Now, however, it seems like they've all caught up with me at once and, as per usual, poor Matthew has had to bare the brunt of it.

I still need to find a way to make up for Thursday.

Several weeks ago, I'd bought a beautiful new dress to wear for today's party and I thought I'd try it on to decide which pair of shoes to go with it…

Only it didn't fit.

I thought I'd been imagining the fact that my stomach seemed slightly bigger but, apparently, I was wring - it is **definitely** bigger. Naturally, that was the end of the world and I got swept up in a wave of hormones.

"This is a disaster!" I cried, storming out of the bedroom with my dress half zipped up. "What am I going to do?"

Matthew was lying on the sofa, Carson curled up asleep beside him (I don't know what it is about that cat lately - he bloody loves Matthew but won't come near me anymore), watching the television and not really paying any attention to my wardrobe crisis.

"I think it looks fine."

"FINE?!" I yelled. "It does not look fine… I can't get the bloody zip up!"

Matthew sighed and got to his feet to help me - it took a bit of effort, but he managed to do it. "See, fine."

I stared at my reflection in the mirror - the dress **looked** alright, but it was still pulling across my stomach slightly. "Everyone's going to be able to tell."

I saw Matthew roll his eyes but I couldn't be bothered to reprimand him for it. This last week had been so incredibly stressful that, coupled with my raging hormones, it was no wonder I was close to breaking point. "For what it's worth," he said. "I think you'd look beautiful in a bin bag but, if it's bothering you that much, wear something else."

"I haven't got anything else," I pouted.

"Well that's a lie," replied Matthew. "Because all of my clothes take up a **fraction** of the wardrobe compared to yours. What about that dress you bought in Italy? Or Spanx even…"

I'm not even going to ask how Matthew knows about Spanx, but he made a good call about the Valentino dress which (thankfully) still fit me perfectly.

"I do like this dress," he said when I emerged from the bedroom again. "I liked it in Verona… **especially** on our bedroom floor."

I swatted his arm. "You know, it's comments like that which got me into this mess in the first place."

"It isn't my fault that you aren't immune to my charm."

"You weren't **always** a natural flirt," I told him, suddenly reminded of that rather flustered eighteen year old boy who had asked me out for coffee after one of our lectures - so bad was Matthew at flirting that it took me two whole years to realise that's what he'd been doing. "In fact, there was a time when you were quite terrible at it."

"And there was a time when **you** could be quite terrible in general," he replied, standing behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist, peppering featherlight kisses down my neck. "But we were little more than children back then, merely pretending that we were more grown up than we actually were."

I'm so glad that we have grown up, because there's absolutely no way I could have dealt with all of this simultaneously a few years ago. Weddings, babies, and murder trials are all fine, but there is still the pressing issue of my parents' marriage to sort out - since I don't have a long lost twin, a plot resembling 'The Parent Trap' is absolutely out of the question.

In the end, all I could do was talk to them.

"So what's happening with you and Papa?" I asked as I stole Mama away for a moment.

"We're… working on it," she replied and I found myself grateful for her honesty. "I don't think that we're quite done just yet."

I smiled back at her. "Good, I'm glad. For what it's worth, I told him that he was being ridiculous."

Mama laughed. "So I hear. I felt sorry for poor Matthew."

"He's going to have get used to our spats if he's going to be part of the family."

"Matthew already is part of the family, and he has been for a very long time."

"You know what I mean," I smirked. "But I'll tell you exactly what I told Papa… don't throw everything away over some stupid gossip."

Mama smiled at me and squeezed my hand. "I'd ask when you got so wise, but then you've always seemed older than you are. Now, enough of family woes, go and enjoy yourself."

The first person I came across was Sybil, though she didn't see me as her eyes were fixed elsewhere.

"What are you staring at?"

"Who's he? I've never seen him before," she replied, pointing across the garden. "He's bloody gorgeous."

The man in question was none other than Tom, and even I have to admit that he was looking rather dashing. I've rarely seen him out of his work clothes or court dress, but smart casual is something that he pulls off very well indeed. I grabbed Sybil's hand and guided her towards him.

"You made it!" I smiled as Tom pulled me into a hug and kissed my cheek.

"Of course I did," he replied. "I'm not one to pass up on a party. Though I think you're going to have to introduce me to people because I have no idea who anybody is."

"Well you know Matthew and Evelyn, they're around somewhere," I told him. They were probably with Papa discussing politics or something to do with balls (honestly, if I have to hear one more conversation comparing the relative merits and failings of Alex Ferguson and Louis Van Gaal then I'm going to scream). "But this is my sister, Sybil. Sybil, this is Tom."

Sybil managed to pick her jaw up off the floor for long enough to shake Tom's hand. 'Oh so **you're** Tom,' she said. "Mary's told me a lot about you."

"I dread to think," he replied, running a hand through his hair which I'm positive made her go weak at the knees. "I heard you go to Cardiff uni."

My sister nodded. "I heard you **went** to Cardiff uni."

"For a time."

Seeing that I was no longer needed anymore, I politely excused myself and left the two to get better acquainted - when I'd told Matthew that I planned to introduce the pair at the party today, he'd given me something of a warning look and told me not to meddle. I'm not trying to set them up or anything like that, but I see so many similarities between them that I think they'd get on rather well…

I'm not sure if there are any rules about your pupil shagging your sister but, if it gets to that point (which, from the look on Sybil's face, the thought has inevitably already crossed her mind) then so be it - I just hope they're more sensible than I am and remember to use protection.

Oh my God, I'm becoming such a mother already.

I meandered across the lawn, smiling politely and making conversation where necessary though ultimately moving away from the rest of the party and seeking solace on a bench under a tree. This is my favourite place on this whole estate and so many of my biggest decisions in my life so far have been made on this bench - this is where I decided what I was going to do about university, where I finally admitted that I was in love with Matthew and that he really was my boyfriend (I tried to deny it for so long, but that's a whole other story), and where one day I'll hopefully sit with my children and tell them all about how important this house is and our duty to it, just as Papa did with my sisters and I when we were younger.

The whole point of this diary was, in my doctor's words, as a way of reducing stress and helping with problem solving. We talked about the different types of diaries - general ones like this one, dream diaries, and gratitude diaries. In a gratitude diary, you're supposed to write down all of the things that you're thankful for as a way of seeing that life really isn' that bad.

Of course, my life never really **was** bad, but I'd just lost my way a bit.

So, here it goes:

Things I'm Grateful For

 **Matthew.**

Honestly, where would I be without this man? Ten years ago, a boy I'd known as a child became the man who would change my life forever. It was the first time I'd seen him since his father's funeral two years earlier - he called my name in the middle of a crowded lecture theatre and I recognised him instantly. From that moment on, we were inseparable and I hope that we will be for the rest of our lives. 

**My sisters.**

Even Edith. 

**Mama, Papa, and Granny**

They drive me up the wall half the time, but they've forever supported and guided me for as long as I can remember. I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for them and I'll be forever grateful for that. 

**My job**.

I love my job. I'm no Atticus Finch, but I really feel as though what I do makes a difference. Every day is a different challenge - I've come so far in the last few years and yet there's still so much left to achieve. I think that silk may have to wait a little while on account of the baby and all so, right now, my legacy is the next generation of barristers - not to blow my own trumpet or anything like that but, if Tom turns out how I did, I think he's going to do a damn good job. 

**Our baby.**

I'm not going to be one of those people that writes soppy love letters to an unborn child (you know the ones "We don't know if you're a boy or a girl, but Daddy and I love you very much" and all that), but I'm sort of used to the idea of being a mother now and, if I'm being completely honest, I'm looking forward to it. I don't know if I'll be any good at it, but then I suppose nobody's ever truly prepared - look at Mama, she'd never had a baby before me and I think I turned out alright. 

It's strange to think that when I started this diary a few weeks ago, I was completely paranoid that Matthew was going to break up with me and I'd made a vow to never have children until I was married. It's amazing how life can change so dramatically in such a short period of time but the fate always has this funny way of taking you down roads you never expected…

And that's quite alright with me.

Oh, Matthew just text. Apparently, Isobel may have just told Granny about the baby and so he and I have a lot of explaining to do.

Oh well…

Here we go again.

 ** _-xxx-_**

 **BABY MAKES THREE**

 _A spokesperson for Number 10 has this morning announced that the Prime Minister's eldest daughter, Lady Mary Crawley, and her fiancé, Matthew Crawley, are expecting their first child later this year._

 _"We couldn't be happier," said Lady Mary, 30. "Though Matthew and I would ask the press to respect our privacy at this very special time."_

 _The couple ,who got engaged during a romantic Italian getaway last month, are set to welcome the latest addition to the family in December and will wed in March next year._


	15. Epilogue: 25th December 2015

_**I FINISHED! What an incredible journey this has been - what started out as just a bit of fun and silliness has turned into one of my favourite stories ever. It's been so much fun to write and I'd like to take a moment just to thank all of my lovely readers for your kind words of encouragement. I honestly had no idea how this would go down, seeing as how I know first-person narratives aren't always a popular choice. I think it's a big responsibility trying to take on the persona of a specific character, and I hope I've done Mary justice (and Matthew too - he's been another key player in all of this). As I said last time, I'm definitely writing a sequel though, in the meantime, I'm also working on a more serious canon(ish) fic about the next generation - it's basically Sybbie and George's story set during WWII and I'd love it if you could take the time to check out my other stories (sorry, shameless plug). So, for the final time, enjoy and please let me know what you think :) x**_

 _ **-xxx-**_

 **6:15pm. 25th December 2015  
** **Downton, Yorkshire**

I can't believe that it's been six months since my last entry. I'll be quite honest and admit that I never really considered writing again but some moments are so surreal that you just have to document them just to remind yourself that they actually happened.

George Robert Matthew Crawley, born at 15:04 on 23rd December, weighed 7lb 4oz.

Matthew is, naturally, absolutely over the moon as are the rest of the family - as for me, well I'm still too exhausted to have fully comprehended just what's happening right now. That's not to say I'm not happy, of course I am, I'm just…

Well, I think completely overwhelmed would do it.

We haven't announced it officially yet and have decided that we want to spend our first Christmas together as a family before letting the media circus descend. I know what everyone will say, and that they'll compare us to the Cambridges when we reveal our choice of name but I don't care. My grandfather was called George and I was really rather fond of him…

And I daresay he would have adored his great-grandson as much as we do.

Though I have a secret, one which we still haven't told anyone.

We knew that it was a boy.

When I first found out that I was pregnant, you might remember that Matthew and I were adamant that we didn't want to find out. When first given the opportunity, we were quite good at sticking to that, though it wasn't until one of my last scans that we changed our minds. Somehow, just knowing what to expect made it so much more real (not that I could have ignored my **massive** belly, and all the other sometimes horrid things that come along with pregnancy).

I'm going to be completely honest and say that, for the most part, I hated being pregnant but, looking back on it all, it really wasn't that bad…

Except labour. That was god awful.

But so, so worth it.

I thought it was just one big old cliche to say that all those hours of agony, all the screaming and the crying, all the verbal abuse hurled at your significant other (I still haven't apologised properly for that one), is absolutely nothing when you hold your baby in your arms for the first time but, like so many other things these last few months, I was so wrong. I don't really remember much, other than half crying, half laughing, and just feeling this overwhelming feeling of love, both for Matthew and this baby that's been a part of you for the last nine months but, at the same time, is still a complete stranger.

As for the rest of the family, they're absolutely besotted - especially Papa, who seems to seize every opportunity to bond with his first grandchild. He's come under quite a lot of criticism this year, particularly over the summer and what many saw as his failure to adequately deal with the refugee crisis and there were those who accused him of lacking compassion. I can't help but wonder what the press would make of him now - a true family man in every sense of the word. I don't want to delve too deeply into politics, but if those people got to know Papa not as the politician, but as the husband, the father, and now the grandfather, they'd know that's not the case at all…

Sybil has to admit that part of it was her fault, even though it really isn't.

She ran off to Greece with a few medical school friends (including Doctor Huw, I later learned), to help the refugees as they came in on the boats. Her actions were seen by the press as a 'rebellion', and there were many journalists who saw it as a sign that the once esteemed Prime Minister was losing control over his family. As headstrong as Sybil can be, her little adventure was completely selfless and I really think that she should be commended for it…

And, to top it all off, she went and got herself a boyfriend who is a self-proclaimed Jeremy Corbyn fanboy.

Well you can imagine the field day the press had with that one.

I suppose we can never win, for there will always be those who find fault in what we do.

She and Tom are an actual legitimate couple now, which is simultaneously lovely and a little bit weird. Mama adores him (though I suspect his charm has something to do with that), Edith approves, and Matthew has a full on man-crush, though Papa's judgement is still reserved. The pair have locked horns on more than one occasion but, given time, I'm sure he'll come round…

To be fair, he did confide in me once that he thought Sybil was going to end up with some hipster boyfriend, who was probably a struggling musician or an artist with tattoos and a beard - not that there's anything wrong with that, but a barrister is certainly an improvement in his eyes. Not that Sybil cares, obviously, she's absolutely besotted and love suits her. Don't tell her I said that, she's in complete denial…

Which sounds oddly familiar.

I'm even starting to suspect that Edith has some fancy man she hasn't told us about. She's moved back to London to begin work on her television series, and the thing with Edith is that she's about as mysterious as a bucket - it's obvious that there's something going on somewhere but, luckily for her, both Sybil and I are a little preoccupied at the moment to press the matter much further.

So, here we are, Christmas Day - the whole family has come to Downton as we do every year though, this time, everything seems so much more relaxed on account of the whirlwind that have been the last few days. The longer I went past my due-date, the more reluctant everyone was to go north. I was in labour for almost two days and in hospital for less than half of that after I discharged myself early on Christmas Eve morning.

For the first time in weeks, I feel completely at peace.

Most of our celebrating is done on Christmas Eve, a tradition that dates back to the golden age of the house and how my ancestors would let their staff have Christmas Day off to spend the day together downstairs or with loved ones if they lived close by. This year though, we've forgone our usual Christmas dinner with enough food to feed a small army, and all the usual formalities for something much more relaxed. It's also the first time a new 'significant other' has spent Christmas with us since Matthew about eight years ago, in that we've sort of adopted Tom for the holidays after his flight to Ireland got cancelled because of the bad weather. He arrived here with Sybil late last night, bringing with him a rather large hamper from everyone at work as a gift for George (and a few little luxuries for me too), which reminds me that I really must text Evelyn to say thank you.

I have to admit though, with the baby and everything, I'd completely forgotten to buy Christmas presents for everyone. I still feel guilty, especially seeing as how Matthew had said that it don't matter and that I'd already given him the most wonderful gift he could ever ask for…

Yet he still bought me a diamond eternity ring.

I know!

He chose one of the few truly private moments we've had in the last few days to give it to me, early this morning when we were still in bed. I'd just finished feeding George and he crawled back into bed beside me, the three of us sat together like a proper family.

"Do you know something," he said. "I've seen you in ball gowns, with your hair all done up and draped in diamonds. I've seen you naked countless times… but, you've never looked more beautiful than you do right now."

"Matthew," I replied. "I'm still fat and frumpy. I'm bloody knackered, and I'm far from looking my best."

He shook his head. "You don't see it. You **never** see it… I don't even know if I expect you to but, you're the mother of my child, Mary. I don't think you'll ever know just how much that means to me, because there are honestly no words to describe just how happy you've made me. I didn't think that I could possibly love you any more than I already did."

The sudden surge of hormones I'd been experiencing since giving birth naturally chose that moment to resurface and I have to admit that I did cry a little bit at his declaration. I've said it countless times, but I honestly don't know what I've done to deserve such a man…

Especially considering what he did next.

He reached into the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a small, iconic turquoise box that I knew instantly was from Tiffany's. "I know that this is probably a little bit unconventional," he said. "And that this is technically supposed to wait until **after** you're married, but a proposal only seems like the promise of forever and I really don't think that's long enough at all. So, what I'm trying to say is… Mary Crawley, will you be mine for all eternity?"

I gasped as he opened the box, though not loud enough to wake a now sleeping George, and revealed the ring. It was white gold, set with twelve diamonds in all (ten for all the years we've been together, one for the present, and one for our future he explained), and caught the light beautifully.

"Do you like it?" he asked. "Because if you don't then…"

I silenced him with a kiss. "I love it. But you really shouldn't have. I feel guilty that I didn't get you anything."

"You gave me my son. What gift could possibly top that?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "A Rolex?"

Matthew chuckled. "You're a terrible tease," he said. "And I love you for it."

"I love you too," I replied, and even now I'm surprised at just how easily that slips out nowadays. "And of course you can have me for eternity."

"Is that a promise?"

"Darling," I smiled. "It's a vow."


End file.
